


Emergence

by LittleSpider



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Agents of SHIELD, Blood, Clintasha - Freeform, Coma, Comatose Natasha, Deaf Clint, F/M, Gen, Gore, Hydra, Love, Major Character Injury, Medical, Medical Procedures, More tags to follow, Multi, NSFW, POV Clint Barton, Post Avengers, Romance, Sad, Sad Clint, Sex, Sign Language, TW: Blood, Trigger Warning: Vomit, Violence, Vomit, Whump, domestic AU, post captain america 2, post winter soldier, trigger warning: blood, tw: gore, tw: miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 53,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1815037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpider/pseuds/LittleSpider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Natasha puts her life on the line for Nick Fury after the events of the Triskelion, she pays what seems to be the ultimate price.<br/>  Clint is left to piece together what is left of a broken existence while Natasha remains in what seems to be a deep coma.</p><p>It never rains, but it pours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alarm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fromthemiddleoftheocean](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fromthemiddleoftheocean).



> This is an AU: The storyline is an AU running after the events of Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier.
> 
> NB:  
> Italics: Past  
> Normal: Present

Brrrp-Brrrp.

Brrrp-Brrrp.

Brr-bbrt.

Clint opened his sleep-sticky eyes and saw his own hand silencing the alarm clock besides his bed.

Bright red LED lettering in the half-shadowed room.

8:15 am.

He’d had a lie-in.

Letting his hand drop from the white plastic of the clock, he rolled onto his back and ran his hands over his face, letting himself wake gradually.

His chin was rough with a overnight stubble that had been growing gradually since around 7pm last night. His breath worried him, it smelled ungodly.

_Must have been that chinese_

He rubbed the hard pockets of sleep from his eyes and reached for his phone, checking it, holding it up in front of him.

The text messages blurred into view.

One from Tony—something about security privileges to his level.

One from Phil Coulson— Oh yeah, he was gonna be out of the country for a few days. No details, obviously.

And another from Pepper—confirming Tony’s text.

He sighed and let his phone drop beside his head, rubbing his eyes.

He needed to get dressed, get shaved—Natasha would hate it if he scratched her chin again.

She always cussed him out in Russian if he left her with stubble rash.

She’d stand there at the bathroom mirror, patting her chin with foundation and hissing words he could only guess at.

With a twitch of a smile, he forced himself into a sit-up and climbed out of bed.

The bedroom was a state.

He really needed to clean up.

_meh…later._

Throwing a few pop tarts into the toaster, he caught himself a quick shower, gave himself a perfunctory shave and wolfed down his now cold breakfast while reading the morning paper that had landed on his mat that morning as he washed down stray crumbs with strong coffee.

 _More hydra bullshit._ Clint thought to himself. _When are they gonna get a new toy to play with?_

Wiping his lips on his grey flannel sleeve, he checked his watch.

9:45 am.

_Crap. Gonna be late!_

Clint quickly pulled on some probably clean socks. His sock collection had recently gone through a Sockicide as Natasha had thrown away any socks that had holes or were going threadbare.

He pulled on his boots, half tying them up, he grabbed his jacket, wallet and phone before heading straight out of the door.

He had an appointment with Natasha.

He smiled to himself like a child who had a secret stash of candy every time he thought about her and the ‘honeymoon’ period had not yet worn off.

He had been seeing Natasha, romantically, since before SHIELD fell, after the Chitauri invasion and every time they met for a date, or more recently ‘appointments’ were some of the best times. She had a way of making any time special for him.

He was gonna pick up some flowers, head on over to her place, and spend a good, long few hours in her company.

Being in her company was like falling asleep on a sun-soaked couch for a few hours.

Smelling her scent, staring at those beautiful, luscious lips, hooked on those thick, dark eyelashes.

If he was lucky enough, maybe with his hand tangled in that thick mane of curly red hair that was effortlessly mussed.

Clint had sworn she was a supermodel, a real-life bond girl the first time he had saw her, and even now he’d need second convincing.

She was the embodiment of everything he found endearing, sexy, and perfect in a work partner, and a lover.

Even now, he’d watch over her as she slept sometimes and wonder what he did in his shit storm of a life to deserve her.

Tony used to joke he was in love. Pepper added: ‘Head-over-heels’.

 _Maybe_ he’d say. _Or maybe its because guys like me who barely graduated middle school never get girls like this._

Clint zipped up his coat a little as the elevator moved downwards and prepared for the autumnal streets of New York.

He moved through the streets, his breath ghosting away from him in the crisp morning air.

The streets smelled like coffee, traffic, and cold.

New York had a smell of its own.

His hood up, his ear phones in but with no music, he blended in with the crowd seamlessly, weaving himself around the people to the flower seller who stood near the subway.

“Hey! Mister Hawk!” the elderly Chinese flower seller grinned. “Bouquet?”

“You got my number alright, Lin.” he grinned back, mirroring her enthusiasm and proffering a ten dollar bill.

She thrust a fresh bouquet into his gloved hand and took the bill before waving.

“See you tomorrow!” she cheered as she turned back to her buckets of flowers.

He jogged down the steps to the subway and grabbed his pass from his pocket, catching the early train.

Finding an end seat near the cab end of the train, he sat, looking at the flowers.

Carnations, a rose, a few other ordinary flowers—Natasha had probably had her fill of street flowers.

Hell, in her life time she had probably been given half of Holland in floral gifts, but she never tired of his sad looking bouquets that arrived daily in a tired looking juggernaut of a truck and was organized into half-decent arrangements by the 85 year old Chinese woman.

I guess Natasha just liked the idea of romance in all of its imperfect forms.

He sat back, his head against the graffitied window and thought of her.

He had dreamt of her last night.

He had been between her thighs, kissing her passionately as his dream begun way later than he would have preferred.

Her fingers were in his hair, gripping at the sandy colored tufts as he wrapped his arms around her perfect naked body.

The lucid detail…

He could smell her body, feel the warmth of her flesh, taste her on his lips…

Even the memory of the dream stirred him.

He rubbed his nose and feigned hay fever, in mid October, and tried to concentrate on not grinning like an idiot as the two elderly Jewish men sat opposite loudly discussed the state of Central Park and the need of replacement benches.

His stop came soon after they had moved on to their grandchildren and their academic achievements and he got off the train, clutching his bunch of flowers and automatically walked the familiar path he trod pretty much every day.

It was beautiful day.

Clint pulled out his earbuds as he neared the impressive looking building. He prepared to head in when his phone started to ring.

Clint paused outside and answered.

“'Llo?” he mumbled.

“Where are you? I sent you a text!”

«em» Tony. «/em»

“I know. I saw it.” Clint replied, looking around.

“And you didn’t respond. Rude.”

Clint’s cheek twitched in a smile.

“I told you, I will talk to you later.”

“Where are you? Or is that a stupid question?”

“I’m going to Natasha’s? Why?”

“Aren’t you training?”

“I’m on leave dumbass. Remember? 8 months R and R unless i’m needed.”

“Yeah…”

“So…anything else or is this a courtesy call?”

“No. Just keep your phone on you. Okay?”

“You got it.”

Clint hung up and put it on silent.

“…Can’t promise i’ll answer it though.” he muttered to himself.

Heading into the building, he nodded to the receptionist and walked to the elevator, his flowers in hand and hit the right floor.

The smell of the building was particularly strong today. Must have just been cleaned.

The elderly gentleman on the zimmer-frame next to him nodded a ‘Good morning’.

“Morning Mr. Harman. How’s the hip?” Clint asked.

“Gettin’ there.” he half chuckled. “Wish I was as young as you.”

Clint grinned.

“I bet you’ll be out there in no time, Mr. Harman, painting the town red and going back to your place with a woman on each arm!”

Mr. Harman chuckled and shook his head as the lift jerked shut on his floor.

Clint had got to know Mr. Harman well over the past six months. He’d had a hip op about the same time Natasha moved in and was getting more and more mobile. For a seventy-six year old, he wasn’t doing too badly.

The lift jerked upwards as Clint checked the flowers again, perking up one of the tulips with his finger.

Tulips always looked like someone had refused them second helpings.

The elevator doors opened at his floor and he walked out, letting a woman and her little daughter in, nodding ‘Good Morning’ as he went.

He crossed the foyer, and headed straight to her door.

Knocking softly, he pushed the door open and looked into the small, clean, crisp room that smelled 10% her, 90% disinfectant.

“…Morning baby…”

There was Natasha.

Laid on her bed, her eyes closed, her lips pressed together, looking just as she did yesterday…and the day before…the week before…

Natasha had been in a coma for six months.


	2. Detergent and Resiliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One-sided conversations are a neglected artform...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with a flux between present and past.
> 
> Past events are in italics, Present in fixed case.
> 
> Any questions? Drop me a comment :)

Clint sat down on the crisp bed with its tidy, starched sheets and looked down at Natasha.

Even comatose, she wouldn’t look out of place on the front cover of vogue.

Her thick black eyelashes rested delicately on her cheeks. Her full, reddish lips were plump and held together in a loose pout—and if you ignored the fact she was connected to about seven different types of tube, you’d figure she was just resting up.

Having a lie in.

Clint put the flowers on the cabinet, next to yesterdays bunch that were still bearing up well in the hospital room’s harsh air con, and leaned over her.

“Hey beautiful.” he mumbled, his eyes straying over her face. “Sorry I’m late, I woke up late. Slept straight through my first alarm…”

The steady beep of her heart monitor responded for her.

He stroked back a few stray strands of red from the soft skin of her cheek.

“…Stark’s been bugging me.” he continued. “…And Pepper actually, so they’re tag teamin’ me now. And Coulson’s flyin’ off somewhere. Or so he said…”

During the past six months, Clint had turned one-sided conversations into an art. He could make conversations flow now from one thing to another with absolutely no second side to bounce off of.

Clint smiled down at her.

She didn’t look any different from how she did the day it happened.

_Clint was sat in the car listening to the audio feed of Natasha’s ‘trial’. They were being ruthless but she didn’t give them a goddamn inch…_

_She was sat in there, black suit, hair straightened and an expression that Nick Fury couldn’t scrutinize._

_She had answered their questions, neutralized their toxic tones, put to bed their wild and unrestrained theories and was now coming to the end of their ultimately futile attempts to degrade, demoralize and strip her of her ‘good’ name._

_She left a parting shot, that Clint felt like getting etched on a plaque and erecting over the Manhattan bridge._

_“You need us.”_

_He had never felt so damn proud of her._

_She had left the building to camera flashes, microphones being thrust in her direction and people calling her name as she walked, and she was walking towards him._

_He was trying very hard trying not to grin as he leaned against the side of her corvette he had been minding and when she caught sight of him, he couldn’t help it._

_He started clapping slowly_

_She gave a soft, single laugh and paused, a few feet from him._

_“Gotta tell you Nat. That performance. Kinda gave me wood.”_

_Nat’s lips bloomed into a full smile as she folded her arms and looked away._

_“Yeah? Well save it. We’re not done yet.”_

_She advanced towards the car as he slipped back and held open the door for her._

_“After you…”_

_She smiled and slid into the passenger side._

_Clint smiled and shut her door for her before heading back to the drivers side._

_He got in, slammed his door and turned to her._

_“…No Joke Nat. That was fantastic. You really held your own in there.”_

_She smiled._

_“Words are cheap, lets see how well we can cope being tracked and bugged by every surveillance spook the government has to offer. I’m surprised they haven’t bugged the car.”_

_“I checked.” he replied. “Stark had JARVIS do a damn good scan on it.”_

_“In that case…”_

_She leaned in and pressed a hot, soft, teasing kiss against his lips._

_She tasted of something that reminded Clint of that feeling he got in the pit of his stomach when he looked at her._

_She pulled back just as he was beginning to enjoy it._

_“…ohhh…” he complained, very aware that his head was now closer to her and his lips were in a desperate pout for more._

_“We’re in the middle of a public street—Come on. Before we get papped.”_

_Clint grinned and turned to the road, in ‘chauffeur-mode’._

_“Where we headed?”_

_“My place. Gonna grab my stuff, meet Steve at Fury’s spot and give him what I know. Kiev came up good.”_

_Clint pretended to understand some of what she said._

_“Got it.”_

_He pulled off and drove, fully aware of the motorcycle that followed and the oddly formal couple in the five door that stayed at their left for most of the journey._

_These spooks really did have a taste for Natasha’s blood…_

Clint poured a fresh glass of water for Natasha and put it next to the bed as he talked.

“Pepper keeps getting my underwear dry-cleaned. I don’t mind. I find it a little weird, sure, but the detergent is making my balls itch and I’m sat there in counselling lookin’ like I got ants in my pants, my counsellor is asking if I have something keepin’ me so ‘restless’ and I can’t say: ‘Oh, sorry bro, its the detergent I use on my boxers’ so I just shake my head and he pencils me in as ‘hyperactive-‘question mark’ guilt issues’.” he sighed and replaced the jug on the bedside table and turned to the window.

“Thing is, I know she gets Stark’s dry cleaned. So she thinks mine need doing—which

leads me to ask, does she get her own dry cleaned?” he turned to Natasha again.

“ _How_ do you iron a bra? Nat? I mean, do you girls have some special…thing that you just iron around? Does it come in different sizes? Is it like some ‘As seen on TV’ thing you can get at _Bed, Bath and Beyond?_. I’m just confused. Your stuff keeps getting re-laundered. Pepper tells me its not necessary.” he sighed as he moved to check on the window again, separating two of the blinds blades to scout the car park. “I told her that they needed to be laundered every week. I’m not having you wearing clothes that stink of damp. That’s no ‘welcome’ besides, I know you wear nice perfumes—I kind of…spray them on your pillow at night? But, damp is damp…”

He looked back towards the bed.

As expected, she was still sleeping.

“Jane’s moved now…” he said, finally sitting in the chair next to the bed. “Got all of her stuff moved in. Last shipment of it came in yesterday. Her and Thor ‘officially’ livin’ in sin now. Already Tony is tryin’ to get her to join him and Bruce in the lab. Bruce is keen to ask her how the ‘Soul Forge’ that Thor mentioned works from a ‘Midgardian’ point of view. Guy is such a freaking nerd—don’t tell him I said that…okay?—But all Jane’s been doing is show Steve how _Skype_ works. Apparently, her friend Darcy? HUGE fan of Captain America—-almost rivalled Coulson on that online Cap quiz. So they’ve been talkin’—and Sharon came over yesterday. Her and Maria were havin’ a ball taking the piss out of Stark. He had this huge hissy fit and stropped off when Pepper joined in—poor guy.”

_Natasha had packed her bags hastily, and took only what she needed. She left enough for them to assume she’d be back, and armed with a battered suitcase that had several peeling stickers in Russian on, and a more up to date model stuffed with clothes, had moved her life from her apartment, into the back of her Corvette._

_She expressed with little emotion that she’d need to sell it ‘on the sly’ and get herself a less ‘noticeable’ number to travel in._

_Clint of course, had already moved his few boxes into Stark’s tower in to the room that he’d already claimed on ‘their’ level._

_Stark had assumed they’d been intimate for years and had given them a shared space in the tower._

_Clint had joked that they’d only really been ‘seeing each other’ for six months and it was way too early to be ‘moving in together’. Natasha had taken it seriously and agreed that they have separate rooms, even if they were only feet apart._

_Clint was now looking forwards to breaking that agreement by sneaking into her room every night and sleeping next to her warm, perfect, gorgeous, sexy form, his nose pressed into the red curls, his lips against the back of her neck, his arm draped possessively across her waist, his hand cupping her—_

_“Clint…?”_

_“…uh?”_

_“Will you be alright to wait here?”_

_“Uh.” Clint nodded, closing his mouth from where it had been hung open and swallowed a mouthful of drool._

_Damn…He needed to concentrate. Hydra were everywhere. He’d hate to be put in the morgue with the notes: ‘Deceased with raging boner’_

_Natasha smiled at him and brushed his cheek in a rare show of endearment before grabbing the file and heading out._

_Naturally, while she was showering and changing, he’d had a damn good look—for around twenty seconds before he gave up trying to read it in Russian._

_He recognized the odd word that Natasha had taught him._

_‘Красная комната.' and a few others._

_He watched her walk towards the few men. A black guy he knew to be Sam Wilson, ex-vet. Now following Steve around pretty much like glue—he had protected Natasha and Steve when they had nobody to turn to—he was alright in Clint’s book._

_Steve, a man broken, rebuilt, and now on a path to something that Clint wouldn’t touch with a barge pole._

_And that tall, black man in the shades._

_'Gee, I wonder who that is…'_

_Clint grinned and leaned forwards on the steering wheel, watching the four talk._

_Stood in front of Fury’s grave._

_Natasha had told him pretty much the second he landed back on American soil about Fury._

_About Hydra._

_Zola._

_James Buchanan._

_Alexander Pierce._

_Clint had spent the entire afternoon afterwards kicking things in his apartment that were already ready to break and a good portion of it glaring at his SHIELD badge as Natasha suggested ways they could bring Hydra down and naming those recorded as being ‘Agents of Hydra’._

_That night Natasha and Clint held each other in his damp, top floor apartment, completely naked._

_No foreplay._

_No sex._

_Yet more intimate than either of them had ever been before._

_Two raw souls, clinging to one another in the desperate hope of protection from the other._

_Stark had immediately made plans to move them in to the tower. He said that he had received information from a high level SHIELD agent that was still true to SHIELD that they needed protection—until they were needed, and Natasha had not yielded willingly, until last night when she realized that the only safety net she had now, was the others._

_After all, you can’t run forever—but sometimes you can let someone carry you…_

_Clint was watching her now, she was talking to Steve. Handing him the document before crossing to follow Fury._

_He knew she had some questions, but whether or not he’d answer willingly was another matter._

_Clint spotted it before any of the others._

_The flash of silver from behind a tomb._

_It was unmistakable, unthinkable._

_He threw the door open and reached for the blade in his boot._

_His cold, sweaty hands had fastened on it and pulled it free as the stillness of the graveyard seemed to slow…stop…_

_The sickeningly clear sound of a bullet ripping through the air._

_Finding skin…muscle…bone._

_The sound of uproar._

_Clint stood up from his crouched position, his hand still in the air, frozen in that throwing gesture long after the blade had found its target between the eyes of the assailant who was now collapsed almost comically against the tombstone._

_Clint looked to Steve, to Sam._

_Alive. Unharmed._

_To Fury, holding someone._

_…_

_“NATASHA!”_

_He ran to Fury’s side._

_Fury’s hand was pressing against the side of Natasha’s skull. Blood was pouring from between his fingers._

_Her eyes were wide open._

_The color in her skin was siphoning away, out through the hole in her skull before his eyes._

_“Nat..no…no. I got him!I got him! C’mon! It’s alright.”_

_“GET ME A MEDICAL TEAM NOW.” Barked Fury, lowering Natasha’s prone form to the ground as Clint put his hand over his former bosses, trying to help._

_Trying to keep all of that blood in._

_“…Please…Natasha…Please come on…don’t do this to me…” Clint’s voice wavered, threatening to crack._

_If it cracked, it would all be real._

_If it cracked…_

_Please…_

_Her lips were parted in surprise, the ghost of an expression of shock on her face. The normally strong, steadfast body that practically screamed strength was all awkward limbs._

_Fury looked to Clint, his glasses had slipped down and Clint found himself held in the stern gaze of a white eye, and a brown eye._

_“You need to keep her alive until a team gets here. Do you hear me?”_

_“Sir.” Clint nodded, feeling as though he was going to faint._

_“Don’t let her die.” Fury ordered._

_Clint nodded quickly._

_He took up her hand._

_It was cold._

_“Nat…Natasha…”_


	3. Freefall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint entertains Natasha while trying not to think about that day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nb: This is AU post-Cap 2.

Clint held Natasha’s hand in his as he read the glossy magazine’s back cover.

“Scorpio…Today’s haste may make you wonder why you didn’t get up earlier, but be assured, you are in exactly the right place, and at exactly the right time. Call my Starline to hear about financial oblig—yadda yadda…”

Natasha was very sceptical about anything that involved astronomy.

_How can one vague prediction govern 1/12th of the population of the world?_ she’d laugh and tell him to knock it off.

Not that it mattered.

Clint didn’t know her horoscope.

He didn’t know her birthday.

Natasha never told anyone her REAL birthday.

Sure, SHIELD had one on file and Natasha went along with it. But she never told anyone her real birthday.

She said that she needed just one thing sacrosanct to her.

They’d read them together over coffee, lunch, or just for a laugh with the others and mocked their haziness before trying to make up something equally ludicrous.

Now Clint read them aloud for her.

Hoping she could hear him.

The Doctors had said that ‘hearing’ is the final sense to go and that she could possibly hear him, even if she couldn’t respond.

So now, he mocked the horoscope for her, in the hope she’d find her way back, even to add to it.

“…Okay, let’s see…uh…Virgo:…interesting developments for you today, but beware the man in green. His manipulative qualities spell disaster for your love life. Call my starline today—-”

Clint closed the magazine.

“Crock of shit…” he sighed and put the magazine on the bedside table and turned his attention back to Natasha.

He smiled at her.

She’d come so far…

If only she could come a little further.

_The ambulance crew got to the graveyard in record time—faster that SHIELD’s own medical team ever could and after stabilizing Natasha for the high-speed journey to the hospital loaded her into the ambulance._

_Fury had told Wilson to get the assassin out of there and to put him in the trunk of his car before they got there to avoid messy questions and had stayed with Clint, giving him stern directions._

_She was losing so much blood._

_Clint’s hand was pressed against her skull, the blood pooling around his fingers, running through them onto his jeans._

_“Stay with me, Nat…come on, don’t you dare leave me…” he begged, over and over, and over._

_His gaze moved to her chest, watching it rise and fall shallowly. His own breathing mimicking hers as he faltered with each pause._

_The sirens were like the sound of helicopter blades in the middle of a messy mission._

_They were hope._

_The doctors could save her._

_The blue suited paramedics ran into the graveyard and looked at the scene._

_A young woman who had been a victim of what could have been gang crime, her boyfriend holding her head together and more friends around a recently dug grave._

_The word ‘Tragic’ was practically dripping from their lips as they moved to Clint’s side._

_They wanted him to let go of her head. They needed to examine it._

_But he couldn’t let go._

_If he let go all kinds of horrible things could happen._

_She’d bleed out. Her skull would fall apart. Her breathing would stop…_

_Fury put his hand on Clint’s shoulder and squeezed—the first time, in a long time that his former boss had shown any form of real emotion._

_It stung Clint like a knat’s bite amidst self-flaggelation that Fury had turned to Natasha when SHIELD fell…And that he was probably hurting too._

_Clint only parted with her head when he was sure the paramedic was holding her the way he had been and allowed Fury to guide him away from Natasha._

_Not too far, but enough to let them work._

_Clint’s heart was a screwed up ball of paper that had been so many wonderful things._

_And it was slowly unfurling and pain was surging through him._

_He wanted to scream._

_Steve was talking to Wilson behind them, he was murmuring quietly and Sam, his arms folded, his head down was listening, and agreeing._

_There was nothing wrong with his hearing aids, but for some reason, Clint couldn’t hear what he was saying._

_Blood was gushing through his ears, through his head._

_Pounding and flooding._

_The paramedics asked a few questions._

_Fury answered them all. He told lies like a Frenchman speaks French._

_Police were called and Fury pointed vaguely towards the South exit and talked about some kids in hoods._

_By the time the cops were on the scene, they had Natasha on a stretcher, in a neck brace and had were giving her oxygen._

_Clint had never been more afraid in his entire life._

_Not of his dad._

_Not of the orphanage._

_Not of running away to the circus._

_The heat of battle._

_Watching his own blood leak out of his body after being shot in the stomach._

_Having a mad-God wreck havoc in his head…_

_Natasha could die._

_Natasha could Die._

_“Who’s riding with us?” Asked one of the team._

_Fury nodded and propelled Clint to the back of the ambulance and up the steps, manoeuvring him into a seat. The seat nearest to Natasha who was being fed oxygen by the paramedic._

_Clint had seen people in movies take the persons hand, and hold it and kiss it and promise them they’ll be alright._

_But he couldn’t._

_Their fingers were inches apart, Natasha’s cold, grey fingers were hanging in the void between the bed and his knees but he couldn’t grab them._

_He was afraid._

_He was afraid of hurting her._

_He was afraid that if he touched her skin, she would be too cold…_

_The paramedic continued his monitoring of the woman in the ambulance._

_Her heart rate was weak but stable. The white pad of gauze slowly staining red. Her nose, a smudge of red._

_Clint put his head in his hands and tried to ignore the fact that she was dying in front of him._

_Tried to wake up._

_Tried to go home._

_God, why was he still here?_

_Why was he here…_

_Give me Loki in my head, make it an illusion, make it punishment, make it fake_

_Anything_

_Just let me keep her._

_Please…_

_Fury’s hand on his back brought him back and he felt like howling out his misery in that small, metal box speeding towards absolution._

_The ambulance slowed after a while, and they were at the hospital._

_She was still with them._

_Her heart hadn’t stopped._

_She was still with them._

_The ambulance’s double doors opened and they were told to stay put as they carefully pulled Natasha’s gurney out._

_Fury got straight out—this wasn’t his first trip in an ambulance._

_Clint followed quickly._

_Natasha despised hospitals. He wasn’t gonna let her be alone._

_They entered the building to find a trauma team waiting._

_Two doctors, a few nurses and a porter._

_They were saying strange things. Things that Clint had heard hundreds of times in Hallmark movies, and Emergency room TV shows but had never thought about understanding:_

_“Natalia Romanova, 29, GCS 3 Gunshot to the head. Left side. External bleeding with deformity, fluid in nose, and ears.”_

_“She’s breathing?”_

_“She needs assistance, but she’s maintaining her own airways.”_

_“Jesus Christ.”_

_“Get her into resus.”_

_“I’m sorry sir, you can’t come in here.”_

_Clint stopped, he had been falling into step with them as they had treated her but now he was stood outside of a glass room and a stern looking woman was stood in front of him._

_“She’s min-my girlfriend…”_

_“I know.” her eyes creased with hastened sympathy. “But we need you to stay here.”_

_Fury nodded and guided Clint to some metal chairs away from the room._

_He didn’t want to go._

_She hated hospitals._

_He needed to be near her._

_He needed to be nearby._

_What if she needed him?_

_What if something bad happened?_

_What if sh—_

_“I need to be near her.” Clint said to Fury. “I need to be there in case sh-”_

_“You need to stay out of their way and get your story straight. Do you understand?”_

_Of course._

_Clint closed his mouth and sat back in the chair._

_Fury went through a basic, nondescript story of a guy in a grey hoodie shooting her, and running away._

_It was simple. Undetailed and nobody would test its stability._

_Natasha Romanoff was a fighter._

_Nobody would argue that._

_But a bullet to the head was something that you just didn’t come back from._

_Steve had spent three weeks in the hospital after being shot in the gut, and he was a super soldier._

_This was…_

_Clint rubbed his face._

_It felt numb._

_His eyes moved to the clock, one of those white basic jobs where the second hand didn’t tick, it just moved around the clock to make it look like your life was running down a drain._

_So why it feel like it was eternity?_

_Fury sat there, his glasses up, staring at the skirting board of the wall opposite._

_What was going on in his head?_

_Was it revenge?_

_Carefully preserved panic?_

_“I gotta make a call.” he said finally, after twenty minutes._

_“Who to?” Clint asked._

_“Never mind.”_

_With that, he dug into his pocket and found a phone and strode off down the hallway._

_And he was alone._

_He didn’t want to be alone._

_He hated hospitals._

_His mind pin balled to every agent and SHIELD worker who had been shot and how they survived, or didn’t and with each passing instance realized that not a single one who had been shot in the head had survived._

_His heart was racing, palpitating as stale panic rose like bile in his throat and.._

_Clint threw himself out of his chair and made it to a janitors closet as he disgorged his breakfast into the utility sink._

_If he lost her…_

_He lost everything._

_Pushing himself up from the wall, the bitter taste of acid in his mouth, scorching his throat he let himself slide down the tiled wall and didn’t bother to hide his sobs as he balled himself up on the floor, his head tucked between his chest and knees and cried like he hadn’t cried since New York._

_Since Coulson._

_But who was there for him…_

_Natasha had held him that night, when he had been told about Phil Coulson and let him sob his angry, tore up heart against her chest._

_She had held him together, and glued him up so with promises of bitter revenge and encouragements that he was not to blame._

_He was NEVER to blame for what happened on the helicarrier, or Stuttgart, or the base._

_Now he was alone._

_And had never felt so hopeless._

_He had always had someone to help him up before._

_Barney…_

_Phil…_

_Natasha…_

_Finally the sobs stopped coming, and he rested his chin on his knees, the cold air of the janitors closet stinging his tear stained face. Blinking the last two tears out of his red, swollen eyes._

_Natasha needed him…_

_He needed to be there…_

_And he would face what came next when it actually happened._

_Standing up, he turned on the tap in the utility sink to wash away his vomit and walked out, rubbing his face on the roughness of his jacket sleeve._

_He walked back to where he was and found Fury talking to a doctor. Her scrubs were covered in blood and she was going through some papers._

_Fury noticed him before she did and looked to him._

_“Thought you’d—”_

_“I needed to use the bathroom.” he croaked._

_The doctor turned her attention to him._

_“You’re the next of kin?”_

_Clint nodded._

_The only person she had left in the world._

_“I need you to sign a release form and give the go ahead for some tests.”_

_“Tests?”_

_“Normal tests. We run them on everyone.”_

_Clint looked to Fury who gave an imperceptible nod._

_Clint took the form with now steady hands and signed his name on the two lines before handing them back._

_The Doctor took them and looked to him._

_“I’ll be back when we know more.”_

_Clint nodded and sat back down as she left again._

_“Where did you actually go?”_

_“Janitors closet.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Didn’t reach the bathroom in time.”_

_Fury sat down and turned to him._

_Clint half-wondered what he had to say to him._

_Half wondered why he was still here._

_Fury was scrutinizing him._

_“Can I call anyone for you…”_

_Clint was surprised enough to side-eye him._

_“…what?”_

_“D’you want me to call anyone?”_

_“Like who?”_

_Fury scrutinized him further._

_Clint remembered that Tony was expecting him at the tower. Remembered their car still parked at the graveyard with all of her stuff._

_“Pepper Potts.”_

_“Miss. Potts?” Fury asked, a note of surprise in his voice._

_Clint nodded._

_“What d’you want me to tell her?”_

_“Just ask her to come here.”_

_Fury didn’t question it, and instead got up and walked away again._

_Clint leaned forwards again and put his head in his hands._

_His brain hurt and his head was a pot of soup ready to boil over._

_The assassin._

_The one he had killed._

_Was he HYDRA?_

_Had he been tailing them?_

_Had his mission been Natasha?_

_Had she spilled too much information when she put it on the internet?_

_Guilt rose up in him again._

_Why didn’t you go wit—-_

_Shut up. Just shut the fuck up…_

_He sniffed hard, and rubbed his eyes._

_Fury was gone for a while. No doubt Pepper was asking for details._

_Clint stood up and paced now, avoiding emergencies as they came through and wondered how bad their case was._

_He entertained the question if it was all probability and the more emergencies that came in, so many of them died, and so many lived and what he could do to ensure Natasha lived._

_Fury came back around the corner and nodded to him._

_“She’s on her way. Why d’you want her?”_

_“I don’t know.” Clint replied honestly. “Out of all of them…I know she’ll be level-headed. Helpful…no matter what.”_

_It took Pepper Potts 35 minutes to get there._

_From tower, to hospital, in mid afternoon traffic._

_She arrived with a cup of black coffee in a Styrofoam cup, a worried expression and an overnight bag. Natasha’s._

_Pepper Potts was a role model._

_She didn’t ask what had happened, but instead gave Clint the machine coffee, and looked to Fury._

_Fury recounted the story in raw, emotionless detail as Clint let the hot coffee scald down his throat. Pepper nodded firmly throughout and turned to Clint when it was over and just seemed to know what to say:_

_“What do you want me to do.”_

_It wasn’t even a question._

_Clint didn’t even know what to say._

_He just wanted level-headed Pepper Potts on standby in case the world stopped turning and his own personal apocalypse happened._

_“…Stay?” he asked._

_She nodded after a moment and sat down, putting the black holdall next to her feet._

_The air grew thick after a half hour of waiting until finally it happened._

_The same Doctor returned to them and instead of talking motioned to a grey door a few feet away._

_“Please.”_

_Clint looked to Fury who nodded to him and Pepper and walked towards the room._

_Fury was a book of matches in a cave._

_The Doctor assembled them in the room that looked a lot like a lounge._

_“Mr. Barton…” she began._

_Fear grabbed his heart._

_That tone she had used. Nothing good ever happened when it was said in that tone._

_Clint held onto the back of the couch._

_“We’re about to take her into theatre. She’s stabilized but we’ll need to perform surgery. From what we can see, the bullet glanced her skull on the left side and cracked it but we’ll need to remove part of her skull to relieve the swelling in her brain.”_

_“…She’s…she’s alright?” Clint asked, blinking uncertainly._

_“She’s stable for the time being. After surgery, we’ll have more of an idea of the bigger picture. However, there is something more pressing…Are you aware that Miss. Romanoff is pregnant?”_

_The world stopped._

_But it hadn’t exploded._

_“…w…what did you say…?”_

_“We ran a blood tes—”_

_She kept talking. Gesturing. Pepper reacted. Fury reacted._

_Clint couldn’t hear her._

_“…Clint…?”_

_Clint swallowed his heart back down into his chest._

_“…can—can you repeat that?”_

_The Doctor explained that routine blood testing prior to surgery had revealed that Natasha was pregnant._

_Clint had fallen from great heights more times than the average person had gotten food poisoning._

_But this was a free-fall all of its own._

_Pregnant?_

_Pregnant._

_Pepper spoke first._

_“…We didn’t know.”_

_The doctor nodded with practiced sympathy though her gaze was a little more preoccupied._

_“As you can appreciate, this complicates matters…”_

_Clint looked to the Doctor._

_…you have no fucking idea…_

_Natasha…_

_Pregnant…?_

_“…has she lost the baby?”_

_Clint heard his voice speak without knowing he’d said it._

_The Doctor put her paperwork down._

_“The ultrasound we performed after we got the blood work back suggests she’s around 2-3 months pregnant. She’s suffered no blood loss to suggest she’s lost the fetus. However, the odds are stacked against her, especially if we press on with the surgery.”_

_Jesus._

_Christ._

_Fuck._

_FUCK!_

_Why…_

_Pepper put her hand on Clint’s back as his head hung again._

_“What are his options?” She asked._

_Pepper Potts…rationality in a pencil skirt._

_“We press on with surgery, lessen the pressure on the brain and lower the risk of brain damage and complications, while following protocols in place for emergency surgery on pregnant women but risk the pregnancy…”_

_“Or?”_

_“We could essentially wait and see, but I—”_

_“No. Surgery.”_

_The Doctor looked to Clint._

_“I…No…no…surgery. Surgery…Please, save her.”_

_The doctor nodded and handed him the forms._

_“Please read and sig—”_

_Clint had slid the pen out of the clip and scribbled his name on before handing it back._

_“Please. Do anything.”_

_The doctor nodded and made her exit._

_Pepper turned to Clint, a little shocked at the speed he had made a decision._

_“…She’s pregnant.”_

_Clint straightened up and shed her hand on his back, pacing towards the back of the room._

_She was pregnant._

_How? How? Could this have happened?_

_Natasha was infertile._

_Soviet experimentation had ruined her fertility, rendered her reproductive system barren._

_It was impossible._

_…She had been shot in the fucking shoulder during Hydra’s fall not four weeks ago and had survived an electric shock._

_She had been shot in the head…_

_She was about to go into surgery._

_She was about to have brain surgery._

_And she was pregnant._

_STILL pregnant._

_Pregnant with his baby._

_She was having his baby._

_60 minutes ago she was dying in his arms…_

_Clint ran his hand through his hair, the friction of her drying blood on his hand against his hair made him look at it._

_“…Clint…” Pepper said softly. “…what are you going to do?”_

_Clint had no fucking idea._

_All he wanted right now was to know Natasha was going to be safe. Alive. Well. Healthy._

_And here it was._

_A big, fucking curve-ball._

_He looked to Fury who was stood in the half light of the room, his face impassive._

_Clint swallowed hard._

_“…we wait.”_

_Pepper nodded after a moment and sat down on the grey couch._

_“…We wait.” Clint replied again._

_Because waiting was all they could do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nb: I am researching as best as I can regarding the accuracies of what would happen but believe it or not, there's very little information out there on this kinda thing. :)


	4. Flight and Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the gravity of the news of Natasha's pregnancy settling on him Clint tries to make sense of it all when Natasha's life hangs in the balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in the past.   
> Italics: Past  
> Non formatted: Present

_They never showed it accurately._

_On TV, they showed the family of the person in surgery, sat outside the theater, stood outside the room, pacing, waiting, praying._

_They didn’t factor in the awkward silences punctuated by the ticking of the clock. Holding in your pee for so long you get a cramp because you don’t want to go to the bathroom in case the Doctor came back._

_Hearing war stories from your former boss over agents who he’s seen come through worse and survived._

_And tiptoeing around the very obvious elephant in the room._

_Pepper had sat on the edge of the couch at first, her knees together, her hands sat on them as Clint held the burden of what he had just been told on his strong shoulders, though they shook._

_He could not move._

_Would not move._

_If he moved, his shoulders would slip and it would all crash down to the ground._

_Natasha, HIS Natasha was in surgery right now having what was potentially life saving surgery._

_That gorgeous head of red curls he had seen laid across his pillow in the morning, that he had felt tickling his cheek as he spooned her._

_That head of red ecstasy that smelled like fresh air and that blueberry shampoo she used…_

_That gorgeous red head was being sliced open and two by two inches of solid cranium was being removed to ease the pressure on her brain._

_And there was a time bomb in her stomach._

_A time bomb that if it went off would drag Natasha with it._

_Could she take a miscarriage?_

_Would it make it?_

_Clint didn’t let the train of thought get much further beyond the word ‘pregnant’._

_Any further and he didn’t think he could take it._

_He had gone to the bathroom a half hour after the Doctor had come in and he had signed the only thing that could get his Natasha better._

_Fury had stood up as soon as Clint had and had asked if he was alright._

_Clint shrugged as best as he could and said he needed the bathroom._

_He had filled the clean, enamel sink with cold water and had sunk his blood stained hands into it and watched the blood lift from his fingers that had shaken, and were now still._

_He looked up and caught sight of himself in the mirror._

_He looked fucking awful._

_There was blood all over his shirt and most of his jacket, his face was smudged with his own bloody fingerprints and his lips were dry._

_His eyes looked swollen and bloodshot and his jaw was set, almost painfully tight._

_Clint rested his head against the cold glass of the mirror and swallowed, relaxing his jaw._

_At this point, Natasha would have her hand on his shoulder and would be coaxing him out of the room, to somewhere less cold._

_Less isolated._

_But the isolation was what he needed._

_He was a solid, numb, lump right now._

_And he needed to let it thaw._

_It wouldn’t, couldn’t thaw._

_Not until he knew she was out of danger._

_He had entertained the idea of following them down to theatre, begging to be allowed to watch but wondered if his gut could cope with the idea of watching them tinker with her brain._

_So here he was._

_On ice._

_Until he knew._

_He closed his eyes and saw a flash of silver behind a tombstone._

_His eyes snapped open._

_Who was the man who had shot her?_

_And why?_

_A solid lump in his chest rose up a little and something in him moved._

_Before he knew it, he had let out a yell and punched the cold concrete wall besides the mirror._

_The pain seeped through muscle, tissue and flesh and provided a cleansing, comforting warmth as his heart ached knowing he had stopped the man who had shot her, but not in time…_

_Why did they have to shoot her…why Natasha?_

_The doors opened to his left._

_“Occupied.” he croaked, barely affording a look to the guy._

_“Yeah? Well, tough.”_

_It was Steve._

_He looked up briefly and then went back to scrubbing at his hands._

_He should have said something._

_But he couldn’t make the words come._

_They were stubborn._

_Stuck behind his Adams apple._

_Steve walked up to him as he rubbed at the more stubborn blood._

_“Got a call from Fury, said he needed us in.”_

_Clint grunted in response._

_Steve looked at his occasional colleague in the mirror._

_“…How you holding up?”_

_Clint felt a little bit of bile surge up his throat like an enemy flare._

_Good Old Steve Rogers…_

_Always knows what to say…_

_Mr. Squeaky Clean._

_“How do you think?”_

_Steve nodded and put his hands on his waist._

_“Fury said she’s in theater.”_

_Clint nodded and pulled the plug before reaching for a handful of scratchy green-grey paper towels._

_“…any news?”_

_“Plenty.” Clint replied abruptly._

_“…Look, Clint. Believe me, I know what you’re going through.”_

_Clint threw open the bin, dunked his paper towels and turned to glare at Steve._

_“Really? I doubt that.”_

_Steve blinked and lowered his eyes in apology._

_“…I know what it’s like to—”_

_“To what? To lose her? You know nothin’, Captain.” he said, putting emphasis on the title. “You worked with her, sure. But you didn’t know her the way I knew her, so save it for the funeral.”_

_“You’re not going to lose her—”_

_“Damn straight. Get the hell out of my way.”_

_“Clint…the shooter.”_

_Clint’s eyes sparked with interest despite his anger._

_“He was a Hydra Assassin. We found a tattoo on his right shoulder.”_

_Clint ran his clean hand through his hair and turned._

_He knew this was a possibility, but it didn’t sit well._

_Natasha had pretty much brought Hydra to its knees, and he knew that kind of sabotage didn’t go unrewarded._

_“…This is…This isn’t her fight. It was never her fight.” he repeated, looking around, searching for an escape._

_“It was mine.” Steve admitted. “She just got caught up in it.”_

_“This was never HER FIGHT!”_

_He grabbed Steve by the jacket lapels and shoved him against the wall._

_Steve let him._

_“You should have protected her! She could have died a hundred times in that mission and you did nothin’ to stop it!”_

_Steve nodded._

_“…I know.”_

_Clint wanted to hurt him. Punch him. Scream at him. He knew he was wrong._

_He knew that Natasha chose to go on this mission, see it through to the end. He knew that Natasha had been ready for all kinds of shit to hit the fan, but no…not now_

_Logic didn’t solve the pain._

_It didn’t quench the fire._

_“WHY HER?!”_

_“It was never meant to be her bullet.”_

_Clint pulled back a little, only now aware of the tear that had reached his lip corner._

_“…what?”_

_“…That bullet was Nick’s.”_

_Clint couldn’t stop it._

_He punched._

_He hit._

_And he yelled terrible things he’d regret in a minute, an hour, a day._

_And between the hitting, and the screaming, he found himself clinging to Steve’s blue jacket. Tears running down his cheeks again as the veteran soldier, who had seen so much heartache himself patted his back slowly._

_“…She…she saved…Nick…” Clint groaned. “…She took a bullet for him…”_

_Steve nodded._

_“She saved him.”_

_“…she’s pregnant.” Clint mumbled against the man’s jacket._

_“…What?” Steve began, pulling Clint away to look him in the eye._

_“She’s pregnant. Right now, in theater…she’s pregnant. They’re opening her head and stuff and she’s pregnant.”_

_“Shit.” Steve muttered. “…Shit, how long?”_

_Clint shrugged, pawing his face dry._

_“…two, three months.”_

_Steve’s eyes grew distant, his mind backtracking._

_SHIELD._

_The Lumurian Star._

_Fury’s death._

_New Jersey._

_Being shot._

_Being electrocuted._

_Now this._

_“…she never to—”_

_Clint shook his head._

_“…and its yours.”_

_It wasn’t a question._

_But…the answer added a sudden, more noticeable gravity to it all._

_Clint nodded._

_“What are you going to do?”_

_“…I just want Natasha back.”_

_The answer was simple. Like a child’s prayer._

_Steve’s hand was still on his shoulder as he breathed in and processed it all._

_“…Okay. Okay.” he said a few times, his eyes darting about as he formulated a plan…_

_And Clint would love a plan to follow…_

_Something he could blindly obey…_

_Something to get him through…_

_Just this once…_

_“We’re gonna, we’re gonna play this one by ear.” he said, finally meeting Clint’s heavy eyed gaze. “We’re gonna sit this out, you, Pepper, Fury and me, and we’re gonna wait and see what happens next. And when it gets to it, we’re gonna figure out the next thing to do.”_

_Clint nodded quickly and swallowed back stale, unspent tears._

_Steve nodded again, as if confirming the order._

_*_

_Clint sat, his head hung, his head slightly up as Pepper’s hand on the middle of his back gave him the strength to listen to his boss._

_He respected Fury._

_Even when he thought he was batshit insane._

_Or being a dick._

_He respected him._

_He obeyed him without question. He landed in hotzones with nothing but how quiver and bow to extract something he would never be certain of on the single word of this man._

_But right now, he needed all the incentive he could get._

_His boss. Nicolas J Fury was sat there, staring into a black coffee through his sunglasses in the dim light of the relatives room._

_“…I was on my way to Europe, tonight.” he began. “I was gonna meet with some level 10’s, try and figure out what to do. Garrett is still missing. God knows where that asshole’s bolted to. I got people who place him in Cuba.”_

_Steve moved besides Fury, a sentinel._

_“I had information for Natasha on something I needed her to be aware of. She was to take it to you in the tower. Share it when I gave the order. I guess it wasn’t meant to be._

_Something spooked her. I was a pace, pace and a half ahead of her when I felt her push me down. I turned around. Saw this…spray of red.I thought she was falling. Thought it was her hair.”_

_Clint looked up, his hands wrapped around a long since cold cup of coffee._

_Fury sighed._

_“I guess old habits die hard.” he went on. His voice, not exactly sad but more slightly disappointed, perhaps carrying regret. “Natasha has protected me more times than I can remember. It would be a waste for her to die protecting a dead man.”_

_Pepper’s hand on his moved as Clint closed his eyes._

_Again, shutting out any scenario that ended in Natasha not being alive._

_“Sam and I have made sure the body won’t be found. Any positive ID on you would be hearsay.” Steve continued. “Technically, you’re still dead.”_

_Fury looked up to acknowledge he heard Steve._

_“I’ve contacted Maria.” Pepper added. “Told her what’s happened. She said as soon as she’s done with congress she’ll be here to talk.”_

_Fury nodded again, his gaze moving to Clint._

_Clint wondered what he had to say to him._

_“Natasha’s strong.”_

_Clint irked his head._

_He didn’t need Fury to tell him how strong she was._

_Fury let his head drop back to his coffee._

_He took a sip._

_“What is it you wanted to tell us…?” Clint asked finally. “What was it that you had to give to Natasha?”_

_Fury scrutinized his cup for a moment and then looked to him._

_“Now isn’t the time.”_

_“Seeing as the lives of two of your team are in ruins, I think you can make it the time.”_

_“Clint.” Steve warned._

_Clint shot him a defiant stare._

_Fury looked Clint in the eye again._

_“It’s complicated.”  
_


	5. Pax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past Perspective:
> 
> Clint deals with the aftermath of the surgery
> 
>  
> 
> \-------
> 
> (I am so sorry its been so long. Things have gone crazy around here,but hopefully, things are gonna settle down now and let me tell the damn story. ;) )

_“Mr. Barton.”_

_Clint raised his head from where he had held it, cradled between his hands._

_He was rarely ever called ‘Mr. Barton.’—except for when he was in police custody._

_It was the Doctor._

_…She was back._

_He stood up quickly, his joints cracking from lack of use._

_Pepper was asleep in the armchair, Steve’s jacket was covering her as Fury stood up slower. His older bones less comfortable with springing to attention._

_“…Is she—-?”_

_The Doctor walked into the room and closed the door behind her._

_“The operation went as well as we could have hoped.”_

_Clint deflated a little._

_“…will she be alright?”_

_“Trauma to the brain is a very unstable thing to diagnose and repair. Given the complexity of the brain, and the variables surrounding injuries—”_

_“Just give it to him straight, Doctor.” Fury advised._

_“We won’t know much more until we wait a little longer. We’ve done all we can at this point.”_

_Clint turned to look at Fury who was stood, Steve behind him._

_“…she made it.” Clint said softly, his voice hoarse, but hopeful. “She made it out the other side…”_

_Clint ran his hands through his hair, and down his face._

_He looked to the Doctor._

_“…did…is the…” he swallowed. “…did she lose it?”_

_The Doctor took another step into the room, closer._

_“There are no indications that she has miscarried during the surgery. However, the next 72 hours are—”_

_“…can I see her?”_

_*_

_All Clint had thought about for those countless, dry, stale hours in that dimly lit room that smelled of plug in air freshener and old coffee was seeing Natasha again._

_Stroking her hair and pressing his forehead to hers, kissing her lips and apologizing for ever doubting she was going to be alright._

_But stood outside of her door…_

_Clint suddenly, didn’t want to._

_He didn’t want to see her. The last time he saw her…she was dying._

_She was pale, grey, cold and covered in blood._

_They’d taken part of her skull out of her head and…_

_The Doctor had briefed him as she walked._

_“Try not to be alarmed when you first see her. We’ve placed her on temporary life support to ease the stress on her body, but be assured, she’s not in any pain. She was maintaining her own airway when she was brought in so we’re hoping that she will be able to do so in a few days. She’ll be unconscious from anywhere from a few hours to…well, longer, but we’ll address that issue when its relevant. When she wakes, she’ll need some reassurance, may not even remember what happened, so you’ll probably be a friendly face to her.”_

_Clint had nodded, half-listening, watching every door and studying each passing patient in the private rooms. Looking for a flash of red hair._

_Her hair._

_Suddenly, the Doctor had paused at this grey door at the end of the quiet, grey corridor._

_“…She’s in here.”_

_Clint looked at the doctor for a moment, delaying the inevitable._

_Her tired eyes met his with a hardness that wasn’t unkind, but more than anything encouraging._

_Clint took a deep breath in, and looked through the small, rectangular window…_

_It wasn’t her._

_“No. Its…the wrong room. Natasha has red hair—she’s got his really thick, red—”_

_The Doctor opened the door and gave him what seemed to be another sympathetic look._

_Clint stepped into the room that she was ushering him into and looked to the person occupying it._

_…_

_Nat…_

_…_

_Natasha…_

_It couldn’t be anyone else._

_Who else would make his heart tear into two like this…_

_Clint put his hand to his mouth to stop himself from making a noise._

_A noise of a strangled cry as his eyes surveyed what only 12 hours before was a living, breathing, talking human being._

_The Doctor stood back as he took a few steps towards the bed._

_He had been in fire-fights in city streets dodging bullets and shooting arrows…_

_He had seen Aliens try and take over Manhattan._

_He had seen the place he gave his life to get taken down in one afternoon, his best friends taken to hospital…_

_…_

_He’d sat in a doctors office as his dad had frowned and pulled out his wallet as his brother sat besides him, tapping his ears and shrugging…_

_He had sat at a neighbours house as the police arrived and knocked on the door. He always hated when police took their hats off…it meant bad things…_

_He had sat at a funeral, his brother pinching his arm to stop him from crying as they put his mom and dad into the ground…_

_Nothing hurt like this…_

_Nothing._

_Hot tears dribbled down to his lips and he tasted them before he realized he was crying again._

_The Doctor was speaking._

_“…looks bad, but we’ve not shaved all of it off. It’s just a patch around 8 centimeters by 8…but it will grow back and once the plate’s in place, the hair should hide any scars…”_

_She had a thick white bandage that was stained orange in places wound around her head, padding it out, a few wisps of her red hair poked out at the edges near her ears._

_Her lips were parted violently by a thick plastic tube held in place by surgical elastic, her white teeth resting against it as it forced harsh sounding breaths into her lungs._

_Clint ran his hand through his hair and shook his head._

_“No…no…no…no no no…No.”_

_The Doctor put her hand on his arm._

_“…I appreciate this is difficult for you, but she can’t feel anything. She’s on medication and is still heavily sedated from the anaesthetic. She’s very peaceful.”_

_Clint didn’t care._

_There was nothing sedate about this._

_There was nothing peaceful about the tubes and needles pushed into her skin on her hand, or the heart monitors that beeped way too slowly for anyone the right side of healthy, or the mechanical breathing that was so unnatural that it sounded like pistons firing…_

_No. This was not sedate. This was not peace._

_This was hell._

_Clint sniffed hard and walked a step closer._

_“…You can sit with her, you can talk to her.”_

_Clint swallowed wet, thick sobs that collected behind his Adams apple and leaned down on the bed a little, moving closer to the person on the bed._

_“…Can I hold her hand?”_

_“You can. Be careful of the Canulas, and don’t move her position at all, its helping her recover.”_

_Clint nodded quickly, and wiped his cheek with his hand before moving it to wrap around hers._

_…It was cold._

_The Doctor excused herself as he bent down and pressed his lips to the only part of her he was sure would be alright if he touched it._

_He kissed her nose._

_There were plenty of tears._

_There were enough screams and yells and punches and kicks and all out sobs in him to fill weeks, months._

_Not now._

_Now he needed to be the strong one._

_He pressed another kiss to her cold nose and sat down in the chair next to the bed, his thumb rubbing warmth into her rigid knuckles._

_“I’m here babe, I’m right here…” he whispered shakily. “I’m here.”  
_


	6. Subdued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint continues to dwell on the past few months, and more is revealed.

_  
Sometime around sunrise, Clint heard the door open._

_He’d been sat in the chair besides her bed long enough to lose count of the breaths she had been forced to take by the machine, and his eyes had grown dry enough to look as though he was just real tired, rather than an emotional ground zero._

_He blinked, looked to the hand he was still holding, to Natasha, absorbed the situation he had been freed of by his day dreaming and then looked to the door._

_Pepper was stood there._

_Her perfect hair was sleep tousled and her face was a little less airbrushed perfection than it usually was._

_He noted with a hint of rapidly sinking amusement that she bore the same sort of complexion Natasha usually had pre-cosmetics, when she was well._

_“I hope I’m not intruding.” she mumbled softly, her gaze on him before straying to the bed._

_Her hand moved to her mouth and she made a soft: ‘Oh’ sound as she surveyed Natasha._

_Clint forgot that she hadn’t seen her since the ‘incident’._

_“Pep…” he croaked and cleared his throat. “No…its okay…c’mere.” he held out his free hand to beckon her closer._

_Pepper took a few steps closer, and Clint could see the tears building in her eyes._

_“No…No, it’s going to be okay.” he continued croakily. “She’s okay. She’s just taking a time out…”_

_Pepper covered her mouth, her nose reddening as her eyes filled with tears._

_“It’s okay.” Clint muttered again. Not even bothering to moderate the lies coming from his lips._

_She sniffed loudly and shook her head, unfolding a mascara stained Kleenex from her suit pocket and wiping under her eyes with it._

_“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I promised I wouldn’t do this…”_

_“It’s okay.” he repeated._

_“It’s just…I’ve never seen Natasha look like that before.” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “So…well, so pathetic.”_

_Clint swallowed and looked to Natasha._

_Her chest was rising…_

_rising…_

_rising…_

_Pause…_

_And falling._

_He tightened his grip on her hand and looked to Pepper, unfolding a fake smile he had crafted in the stale hours between._

_“I’ve seen her in worse states.”_

_Pepper nodded, the lie passes her by undetected—because only Natasha would see that one coming._

_She knew him better than she knew herself, and she’d know exactly what to do right now._

_She had a way of making mountains look like hills, and earthquakes look like coffee spills._

_She was his buffer, his comfort blanket, his bubble wrap, she was the bottle of pills that he flushed down the toilet after New York and she was the night light that stopped the nightmares after Loki had been flushed out of his mind._

_She was the earth, and she was the sky._

_And she was now still._

_She was turbulence. She was a scarf trapped in a wind that seemed to guide itself, suddenly brought to a halt on a dirty, wet sidewalk._

_Tears stung at his eyes again and he rubbed them to make himself look tired._

_Pepper sniffed a final time._

_“Happy has fetched the car and it’s in the garage of the tower. I’ve brought some things for you both.” she nodded, her eyes straying over the medical equipment that was keeping Natasha alive. “I can always go back and get more—what would you like me to tell th—”_

_“Tell them the truth.” Clint replied, his thumb brushing the soft skin around the medical tape. “Tell them Natasha was shot in the fucking head by a Hydra bastard and she’s on life support…”_

_“—I meant about the baby.”_

_Clint was trying so very hard not to think of the thing that could still be inside of Natasha. Still alive. Still growing. It’s heart—or whatever passed for a heart, still beating after all that had happened._

_Clint had avoided Natasha’s abdomen, anywhere below her face really…_

_“…leave it.”_

_Pepper asserted her stance._

_“…Clint.”_

_“What?”_

_“…The Doctor, she said that there was nothing to suggest miscarriage.”_

_“She’s…she’s still pretty sick.” Clint replied. “Just leave it.”_

_Pepper decided to let the matter rest, at least for tonight._

_“Get some sleep, Clint.” she urged before stepping back towards the door._

_Clint suddenly felt afraid to be alone again._

_Alone meant he’d be thinking again, and his thoughts were no fairytale, no happy parade of kindness._

_“Pep?”_

_She turned on her heel and looked to him._

_“…if…” he swallowed, unsure of where he was going with this. “…If this, If you were…If Tony were…”_

_Just fucking say it…_

_“Get some sleep, Clint.” she repeated, softer._

_He nodded and rested his head on Nat’s bed, sleep the very last thing on his mind._

_He heard the door creak and heard Pepper leave._

_He sniffed hard, and looked back up at Natasha, her chest was rising…_

_Rising…_

_Rising…_

_Pause…_

_Falling…_

_He brought her hand to his cheek, his stubbly cheek and rested the lapse fingertips against his cheek. A poor imitation of the comfort he craved that only she could convey._

_He pressed a kiss to her fingers and closed his eyes, cradling them against his face._

_“Nat…” he mumbled against her fingertips._

_*_

_“Mr. Barton…”_

_Clint sat up at break neck speed, his eyes darting around._

_Hospital. Beeping. Daylight._

_“…Mr. Barton, are you sure you wouldn’t like to sleep somewhere more comfortable?”_

_Clint eyed the man in the purple tie stood over Natasha with suspicion._

_The events of the last 18 hours fell on him like a hundred shoe boxes from a tall closet, each one heavier than the last._

_The man was an intruder._

_“You’re not her Doctor.” he croaked._

_“Dr. Keller finished her shift.”_

_Clint looked at his watch._

_He’d been asleep for at least five hours._

_“…fuck.”_

_“Mr. Powell.” the man responded. “Neurology.”_

_Clint eyed him again, sleep blurred his eyes and slurred his voice as he surveyed the man._

_He had a British accent and a hell of a shiny head._

_He reminded him of Sitwell._

_Clint instinctively disliked this guy._

_“Who are you?”_

_“I’m the specialist in Head trauma here, I was asked by Dr. Keller to give Natasha a more thorough post-operative examination to try and understand what happened yesterday.”_

_“She got shot in the head.” Clint responded bitterly._

_“I am very sorry to hear that.” the man apologized. “But if I can, I would like to try and get Natasha on the road to recovery.”_

_Clint rubbed sleep out of his eyes and nodded._

_“Got any ID?”_

_The man looked very hassled but handed Clint a badge with the hospital’s insignia on and his name and photo._

_“Alright.”_

_He handed it back._

_“I will need you to vacate for the examination, if that’s acceptable?”_

_Clint gave him a look that he hoped conveyed the message: ‘If you hurt her, you’re dead.’ before standing up and looking at Natasha, his knees cracking in the process._

_He leaned down and pressed his lips to her nose again._

_“I’ll be back soon, alright?”_

_He stroked down her cheek with his fingertip and looked to the Doctor._

_“She wakes up, you call me?”_

_The man nodded._

_Clint was satisfied and stood up, his joints cracking as he did and left to find anyone who’d stayed behind._

_He expected everyone to have gone now, maybe Fury to have left him a message at reception._

_Walking into the busy corridor, he looked around._

_It seemed entirely different in the day. Busy, active, alive. Not like the quiet, almost mausoleum like place it was in the night._

_A nurse looked to him._

_“Mr. Barton?”_

_Clint hated that._

_“…uh, yes?” he nodded, affording her his attention._

_“Mr. Stark said he’d be waiting in the relatives area for you.”_

_Tony…?_

_Tony was here?_

_Clint felt a strange wrap of relief hug his shoulders._

_If Stark was here, he’d make sense of it….or at least a joke that would break the ice and help him understand it all._

_Clint nodded, scratched his cheek and headed towards the relatives room which had now surely become ‘Avengers Camp’._

_He walked straight in and found Tony sat there reading a pamphlet on Plasma donation._

_No sharp suit._

_No shades._

_A tee shirt and jeans and about 16 hours of concern inside every wrinkle on his forehead._

_“…Stark?”_

_Tony looked up, put the pamphlet down and walked over slowly, the urgency was stemmed by a need to appear cool._

_Had Natasha’s attack frightened the terminally-chilled Tony Stark?_

_“…Pepper got back around an hour ago, told me everything.” he began quickly._

_Everything?_

_Clint nodded, not giving anything away._

_“I’m sorry dude.”_

_Clint didn’t want pity._

_He wanted nobody’s pity, but Stark’s pity, he didn’t just not want it, he couldn’t take it._

_“Stark.” Clint began, dropping all pretence and letting his sluggish shoulder droop. “I don’t want ‘Sorry.’. I want you to make jokes, I want you to take the piss out of me and I want you to tell me that Natasha is gonna fucking kick my ass for not getting to that asshole faster.”_

_Tony’s mouth dropped open in surprise at this outburst. He quickly regained composure, set his jaw, lifted his head a little and nodded._

_“Alright…Look, Pepper came home and said that you needed someone other than her to talk to. That you kinda, couldn’t talk to her. And said that I should try and talk to you—and not to make any jokes so…here I am.”_

_Clint’s eyes creased in confusion._

_Why had Pepper sent Tony to ‘talk’ to him?_

_What could Tony possibly convey to him that Pepper couldn’t?_

_When had Tony ever been even close to losin—_

_Extremis._

_Tony had nearly lost Pepper to Extremis…_

_Clint swallowed hard, the rage and fire quelled, fanned down by confusion, and sudden realization._

_Time to bite the bulle—_

_“…Tony…Natasha’s pregnant.”_

_Tony blanched._

_“…Right.” came the quick response. The news hadn’t even permeated._

_“…she was pregnant when she was shot…and they said that she’s still pregnant, and I don’t know what to say or do, I don’t know what to ask and i’m not sure if I’ll like the answers…”_

_Tony put his hands on Clint’s arms to steady him._

_“Listen. Stop. Okay?”_

_Clint looked at Tony._

_“Stop. Just, stop. Okay.” Tony’s eyes darted side to side as he thought of what to say. Clint could see him rehearsing what Pepper would say I his head before he even spoke. “Is she still pregnant?”_

_“They said she didn’t miscarry.”_

_“Then she’s still pregnant. Okay, is Natasha still unconscious?”_

_Clint nodded._

_“Alright. Okay. You need to go home and sleep, okay?”_

_“No. I need to stay here…”_

_“Clint, you smell like blood and iodine. Your face is like a cactus’ ass and you’re not thinking straight.”_

_“If she wakes up and needs me—I need to stay here.”_

_“They will call straight away. I will stay here and I will make sure they do everything they can and should. Clint, she’s gonna have questions when she wakes up and you need to be able to answer her properly. You can’t answer her right now.”_

_Clint wanted to argue, but couldn’t. The logic was too good and he was too tired._

_He needed a bed desperately. Somewhere to rest his aching body, and shut off his red hot mind._

_But Natasha needed him._

_“Nat needs me…” Clint mumbled._

_“Nat needs you to be alright. Happy is waiting in the lobby. Go home.”_

_Clint let his shoulders hang as Tony guided him to the door._

_“I’ll call you the second anything changes. I mean it.”_

_Clint nodded and allowed himself to be pushed into the direction of the elevators._

_He stood in there and pushed the button for the lobby._

_Tony Stark was stood there, his arms by his sides, watching Clint to ensure he didn’t escape at the last moment._

_The metal doors shut and the elevator moved down._

_Clint felt a great weight of guilt hang inside him._

_He was abandoning her._

_Nat needed him. She needed him there. She’d be scared, alone, afraid, in pain and confusedandwhatifthetoldhershewaspregnantwhenhewasnthereohgodheneededtogetoutofthislif—_

_He jammed the button to the floor above and hoped that it would go back when the doors opened._

_Happy was stood there next to the coffee machine, draining a polystyrene cup._

_“Barton.” he nodded to him, and the now busy ER waiting room was staring at him._

_Why?_

_Why? Was it his face? Had it been on the news? Had Natasha Romanoff’s attempted assassination been all over Sky and CNN?_

_Clint set his jaw and tried to stare back. Tried to dare them to say a word but Happy had bundled him into the back of the car before he could._

_Clint sat there in the expensive leather seats, and ran his hands over his face as Happy sat in the front and pulled off, whisking him away from Natasha._

_“…turn back. I wanna go back.”_

_“Yeah, Tony said you’d say that.” Happy responded, making no effort to turn back. “Said you gotta go home and sleep.”_

_Clint could have knocked Happy out with a kick to the face, grabbed the hand brake, spun a turn and headed back to the hospital in 30 seconds but he knew that firstly, it would be unkind, secondly, it would be the worst move he could possibly perform given the circumstances, and thirdly, he had no energy to do it._

_Clint hung his head and rubbed his face again._

_“…is it on the news?”_

_“Nah. Just some story about a guy who brought a live sloth into congress to prove a point.”_

_“Papers?”_

_“Nope. Same story.”_

_Clint looked to him. Relieved Happy was treating him like normal._

_“Do the others know?”_

_“Steve got back. Woke everyone up. Told us everything. Couldn’t believe it. Tony said he was gonna get dressed, Bruce went to his room—there wasn’t any alerts so we think he just did some meditation. Thor’s in London, he got called when it turned 9am there.”_

_Clint rested his head back against the head rest._

_His eyes, back, neck, everything physically hurt from exertion and all he wanted to do was to crawl into his bed, and wake up with Natasha besides him._

_Her lips pouted into that kissable shape as she slept, her curls hanging over her face._

_He felt his eyes burn again and knew that if he didn’t put it on ice, he’d be crying in the back of Tony Stark’s car in front of Happy._

_He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve._

_Happy then did something strange._

_He switched on the radio._

_Was he trying to spare Clint?_

_To pretend that he didn’t hear?_

_The car journey was an eternity and when Happy pulled into the secure garage and parked up next to the other gleaming, flawless cars. In the space nearest to the elevator, Natasha’s Corvette was parked._

_Dull and dusty. Out of place._

_Clint wanted to open the door, sit in her space and see if anything of her remained._

_He wanted to open the glove box, pull her CD’s out and listen to them. He wanted anything of Natasha. A pale memory imitation was better than nothing._

_“Barton?”_

_Clint looked up at Happy and dragged his painful body up._

_Happy had opened his door and was waiting._

_“C’mon buddy.” he offered._

_Clint pulled himself out and sloped towards the elevator in the basement level._

_Happy followed._

_“We’ve got extra security in place at the moment. JARVIS thought that as Romanoff had been attacked that the other Avengers could be next. I’ll give you an updated pass when you wake up.”_

_Clint nodded, he reached into his pocket to check his cell. It was an old Nokia 3310. He preferred it over the new smartphones for its durability and its battery life._

_No new messages._

_“I’ll have a shower. I’ll shave. I’ll take a nap. Then I’m going straight back. Okay?”_

_Happy nodded._

_“Sure bro, I’m just on orders from the boss to get you home and get you rested.”_

_The elevator doors opened and Clint was surprised he hadn’t realized that it was moving._

_Their floor._

_The space was still grey, and neutral. No signs of him or her hung around. The boxes that Natasha had packed into her car were now stacked near the couch._

_Today they were meant to be unpacking._

_They should have been unpacking her stuff, arguing over his stuff, ordering take out and watching bad movies until crawling into bed._

_Happy led him out into the level._

_“C’mon.”_

_There were quick heels on the wooden floor and Clint looked up to find Pepper walking in, a bundle of laundry under her arm._

_She’d changed his bedding._

_He really wished she hadn’t…_

_“Clint.” she said softly._

_“I’m goin’ t’bed.” he mumbled, heading towards his bedroom._

_“Clint, I promise you. The second we hear anything. I will have Jarvis wake you.”_

_Clint grunted in response and pushed open his bedroom door before closing it behind him._

_Those pitied tones drove him insane. He couldn’t deal with it. Same shit as when his folks had died._

_Pats on the back, ruffled hair._

_'Poor kid', 'Brave little guy', 'Tough little thing.'. Barney had pinched his arm to stop him from crying and taught him to give real handshakes._

_He kicked off his boots and sat down, opened the drawer on his night stand and rifled around for the meds that the Doctor had prescribed after New York._

_The sleeping meds that kept the nightmares away and kept him asleep._

_He hadn’t needed them for at least three months, but today. He’d need them._

_He dry swallowed a few and lay back, waiting for the haziness to set in and the heaviness to drag him under._

_He could have sat there and cried, and beat himself up for the next six hours or until Natasha woke, and they knew more._

_Or he could think about the baby that would almost certainly die and how that would affect her when she woke._

_If she woke…_

_But he was too much of a coward to do that. He needed an out._

_And these meds were the best thing for them._

_Here it was…_

_Like a big, heavy…blanket…_

_Clint felt his eyelids grow heavy, and blocked out everything._

_The clean linen._

_The light from the window._

_The sound of Jarvis’ soft, almost undetectable whirr._

_Everything.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the slow updates. I'm working full time at the moment, and planning my wedding.


	7. Fixed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finds himself surrounded by people who are doing a very good impression of dummies.

_  
Clint opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling._

_…Ceiling._

_White. Tiled._

_Tower. He was at the Tower._

_He rubbed his eye and rolled over before startling as his hearing aid amplified the crispness of the pillow in deafening volume._

_“…Nat, you let me sleep in my ‘aids again…” he mumbled, reaching across to her side to rub her arm affectionately._

_Something cold, thick and unpleasant quickly thawed in his stomach. A roadside slushie of grey, dirty snow._

_He sat up rapidly._

_“…Nat??!”_

_“Good afternoon, Sir.”_

_Clint looked to Jarvis’ display panel._

_A home movie of the horrors that had unfolded over the last—god knows how long, ran in fast forwards through his mind._

_Nat…_

_“…Afternoon…?”_

_“The time is 3.45pm, Sir.”_

_“Fuck! Jarvis! Why did you let me sleep!? I need to go back! Shit!”_

_He scrambled up and started towards the door, pulling on his boots as he ran._

_“You failed to set an alarm. Sir.” Jarvis offered._

_Clint resisted the urge to launch a paperweight through the TV._

_“Get someone…” he ordered._

_“Who would you like to me to ‘get’ for you, Sir?”_

_“Anyone! Anyone who isn’t you.” Clint snapped, running to the bathroom to swallow a mouthful of water from the faucet while checking his cell._

_No messages._

_No missed calls._

_No Voicemails._

_Clint pressed his speed dial number 4. Stark and pinned the phone between his shoulder and ear as he made for the bathroom, his need to use the toilet greater than his thirst._

_Three rings later, Tony answered._

_“Hey.”_

_“Is she awake?!” Clint said quickly, his hands occupied while he talked._

_“Uh. Not yet. Buddy, look. I’m at the tower—”_

_“She can’t be alone! ‘the fuck are you here for?!”_

_“Wait…wait. Let me come down there. One minute.”_

_“Stark!”_

_The line went dead._

_“FUCK.” he yelled._

_Clint finished what he had to, zipped himself up, thrust his fingers under a gushing cold tap before running out to the apartment again._

_What the hell was Stark thinking?!_

_She was in danger, she was still under attack. They could send people to finish her off! What if she woke up?! What if she woke up and panicked and lost the—_

_The elevator door opened and Clint ran his damp hand through his greasy, sleep styled hair._

_Pepper and Tony stepped into the apartment, sat there like a mom and dad when their teenager had been caught coming in after curfew._

_“The fuck are you playin’, Stark?” Clint began. “She’s in danger!”_

_“Calm down.”_

_“Fuck calm. You left her alone, get out of my way. I need to get back to her.”_

_“Bruce is with her.”_

_Clint quickly processed the information. Bruce was with her. Nobody would try anything with the Hulk sat at her bedside._

_“Look. You need to stay calm alright. We need to talk.”_

_Clint ran his hand through his hair. The only way he was gonna get out and to the hospital in time was through these guys._

_Lip service._

_“Okay. Okay. Go.” he nodded, swallowing._

_“Clint. You need to shower, and shave, and eat, and just tidy up.” Pepper insisted firmly._

_“I can do that another time.” Clint retorted._

_“Clint…” she frowned, flicking her eyes up and down him._

_Clint looked down at himself and saw the stale, stiff blood patches that were what was left of Natasha’s blood on his shirt, hoody and trousers._

_His hair was greasy and tousled and his face felt rough against his hand._

_“…I need to see Natasha.” he repeated, musingly._

_“She’ll get pissed off when she wakes up and has seen you fall apart.” Tony interjected._

_Clint looked to Pepper who had slept, showered and generally tidied herself up since he last saw her and Tony who looked as if he had been running on two hours sleep for the last four days at any given time._

_“…If I shower, and eat and all that shit, will you take me to hospital?” he asked._

_Pepper nodded immediately._

_“Absolutely.”_

_Clint nodded._

_“Done.”_

_He turned on his heel and headed straight for the en-suite, leaving the pair of them to stand in his living room._

_He shed his clothes, throwing them haphazardly into the chrome laundry basket and stepped under the hot shower._

_It felt like a baptism as the hot jets of water hit his skin and re-awoke his sleep drowsy muscles._

_He bowed his head, letting the water pound his head and watched the residual blood run down the drain in red rivulets and pool at his feet._

_Content he was clean enough not to warrant a second shower, he got out, donned a towel and gave himself a quick, wet shave with a disposable razor._

_He had no time to dry his face enough for a dry shave with the razor Nat had got him for Christmas and dressing in a simple black tee-shirt, jeans and a jacket, he headed back out to the two who were sat looking as if they were at an intervention._

_“Ready.” Clint nodded._

_“You need to eat.” Stark said simply._

_Why did that sound like he was stalling?_

_“Drive thru.”_

_“Proper food, Clint.” Pepper replied softly._

_“Gee mom, Bobby’s mom lets him eat drive thru.” Clint dead-panned._

_Pepper gave a false, forced, appreciative smile and looked to Tony who did not share her patience or her amusement._

_“Clint. I’m gonna level with you. Fury has called in some experts at the hospital.”_

_“…what?” Clint’s stance dropped._

_“He came by while you were asleep and said that he needed to talk to Banner.”_

_“But why? Why would he—she’s at a-a-a hospital, there is no need for Bruce to be there. He’s not even a medical Doctor—”_

_“Tony…” Pepper began._

_Tony stood up._

_“Look, let me take you there, we’ll get drive thru—”_

_“I’m not fuckin’ hungry, Stark!”_

_“Alright. I hear you. Pepper, get Happy to get the car ready.”_

_“He’s napping. He’s been on call since 4am.” Pepper replied._

_“Fine. I’ll drive.” Tony half smiled, getting up._

_Clint looked to Pepper._

_“…Why is Banner there?”_

_Pepper gave a genuine shrug but averted her eyes._

_Clint had had enough._

_He moved to the elevator. If he had to hitch hike to the hospital, he would._

_Tony maintained a cold silence in the elevator, something unlike himself._

_Clint would have broken it with a corny joke, a stupid pun but not now._

_Natasha mattered._

_He took the silence until they were on the free-way before continuing the verbal assault._

_“Why is Banner there?”_

_“Fury called him in.”_

_“Is Fury there?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Since when?”_

_“Since around 11.”_

_“And why didn’t you wake me?”_

_“Fury’s orders.”_

_“Since when do YOU follow orders?”_

_“Since…” Tony checked his rear view mirror needlessly. “…I dunno.” he continued._

_“Bullshit.” Clint baited._

_“You needed rest.”_

_“I wasn’t the one who shot her in the head, Stark. I’m not the fuckin’ bad guy here. You gotta keep me in the loop. I was the one who watched her lyin” there, shaking, her blood and brains pouring out.”_

_Stark flinched._

_Clint’s mouth dropped open an inch._

_Could he have just found a metaphorical crack in Stark’s carefully build armour?_

_Clint looked out of the window to avert his gaze from the shaken man who was driving._

_Eight uncomfortable minutes passed._

_“…There were anomalies in her blood-work.” Stark finally said. “Fury wanted Banner there to conduct tests because of his skills. Banner wanted more expertise. I was told to keep you at the tower so that they could work.”_

_Clint sat there, swallowing the information._

_Anomalies. Expertise._

_“…What kind of anomalies?”_

_“Clint. I literally told you what I know. I don’t know any of the technical jargon. I wish I did. But I don’t.”_

_Clint was content with the response, even if he wanted to know more, he had to appreciate that Stark had been honest._

_Clint turned it over, and over, and over in his head._

_And a twinge started to twist in his stomach._

_The baby._

_Was it something to do with the baby?_

_Clint felt like a thick, solid lump of something unpleasant was stuck in his throat and it was pushing down on his heart._

_Stark parked up at the hospital a few minutes later and nodded for Clint to go in, with him following behind when he’d parked properly._

_Clint walked quickly, then sprinted into the hospital, heading to the elevator he had left some time earlier and pressed the button to her floor._

_He stood back in the lift and cursed quietly as he noticed a nurse pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair._

_“Hold the lift!” the man called._

_Clint could have pretended his hearing aids were broken, and that he hadn’t heard but instead held the door._

_The man nodded as his nurse pushed him in._

_“Thanks.” he nodded to Clint. “…I’m already late for my pre-med. If I’d’ve missed the elevator my surgeon might’a cancelled.”_

_Clint nodded and averted his gaze._

_“Gonna get me a new hip today. Whole new lease of life.” the man beamed, looking down at his leg._

_Clint nodded again._

_The heavy silence was drowning him. It was choking him._

_“…you visitin’?” the man asked._

_Clint nodded curtly._

_“Ah. Nothin’ serious I hope.”_

_Clint closed his eyes bitterly._

_“…a little.” he lied._

_“Ah, I’m sorry t’hear that.” the man continued._

_Thick, molasses-like silence._

_The doors opened and the man got out to be greeted by a cross looking nurse._

_“Mr. Harman. You’re late!”_

_The man just smirked at her._

_“Sorry, I got talkin’…”_

_he nodded back to the Clint and winked._

_Clint felt the slight urge to smile as the doors cycled shut._

_He took a deep breath, suddenly able to breathe again and looked at the elevator panel._

_The next floor was his._

_There it was again, that fear of seeing Natasha._

_He strengthened his resolve, locked his knees and waited the eternity of ten seconds until the doors opened._

_The doors opened and it took him two good mental pushes to get him into the foyer of the intensive care area._

_Stepping into the area, he was scanned by passing nursing staff who seemed pretty stressed today._

_He wondered what Fury had brought with him to cause this kind of discomfort._

_Clint walked forwards to the reception and was just about to ask the Receptionist if Natasha was still in the same room when he someone poked his arm._

_It was a young woman in her early twenties, brown hair tied back in a neat ponytail, and she was dressed like a librarian._

_She was wearing an oddly fixed smile._

_“…Agent Barton.”_

_She was a Brit._

_“…yeah?”_

_“…Jemma Simmons, biochemistry. Direc—…Mr. Fury asked me to be here. Delighted to meet you. Always been a fan of your work—would you like to follow me?”_

_“No.”_

_The smile fell quickly._

_“I wanna go see Natasha.” he replied._

_Jemma quickly recovered._

_“Of course you do. Of course. But I need you to follow me first as we have quite a bit to talk about.”_

_Clint looked towards Natasha’s door then back at the girl._

_“…how is she today?”_

_“She’s still unconscious, but her vital signs are showing a marked improvement.”_

_Wow, that wasn’t at all rehearsed._

_Clint moved his eyes back to Jemma._

_“Fury here?”_

_She nodded sincerely._

_“…alright.” he sighed and nodded. “Lead on.”_

_Jemma seemed intensely relieved and headed towards the same relatives room he had spent half the day in yesterday._

_Clint followed slowly, moving away from Natasha’s room.  
_


	8. Anomoly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The situation flips Clint's view dramatically, and suddenly priorities are shifting.

_Fury had changed into yet another befitting hoody and jeans combo in the time in between Clint leaving and Clint arriving back at the hospital. He was sat at the table, a steaming polystyrene cup on the table in front of him and dozens of papers, numbers, graphs and charts as Jemma, this young Brit with a degree in biochem stood next to him pointing at things on the chart and speaking in soft tones that occasionally Fury would make an agreeing grunt at._

_Clint tolerated it for a while, sitting there, letting everything settle in on him again, but when Tony slipped into the room, Bruce with him, he suddenly felt very outnumbered._

_A whole lot of people suddenly knew a lot more than him and that was NOT okay._

_Clint sat forwards quickly which startled Jemma, but didn’t phase Fury._

_“Alright, what anomalies What’s going on?”_

_Fury looked to Jemma who had looked to him, before turning his attention to Clint._

_“…how much did Romanoff tell you about her past?”_

_Clint’s heart dropped a little before the safety net of their close relationship caught it._

_“Everything.” Clint replied simply._

_He and Natasha had no secrets, even Loki knew that._

_He had exploited his intimate knowledge of Natasha’s past to ‘get to her’. Fortunately, there was no shame in something that wasn’t a secret and Natasha played him like a second-hand fiddle._

_“What do you know about the Red Room Program?” Fury replied, looking over a sheet of paper._

_“I know that Natasha was drafted into it as a child and that it involved both psychological and physiological conditioning.” Clint reeled off, not letting his personal feelings for the matter seep into the facts._

_Fury nodded once and leaned forwards._

_“Are you aware of how far the Physiological conditioning went?”_

_“I know that it went far enough to make the fact that she’s pregnant a hell of a surprise.” Clint replied tonelessly._

_The day that Natasha had told him she was infertile was the day that he’d teased her about being pregnant because she’d vomited the morning before she was due to go on a mission—a long time ago now. They’d spoken of it since, but Natasha never went into the finer details. It was her secret and he knew it must have been hard to accept but nevertheless she’d barely batted an eyelid as she recalled the notion that ‘Petrovich wanted Soldiers, not mothers’ and that it simply wasn’t possible for her to be pregnant. Of course, It had come as a shock to him, but he accepted it as simply another aspect of Natasha that made her who she was._

_Fury slid a document across the table for him to look at._

_“Natasha was built to withstand more than the average human. Temperature extremes. Extremes of hunger, thirst, pain, injury, sleep deprivation, blood loss, torture—you name it, they fashioned her to take it. Much like The Winter Soldier.”_

_Clint felt his jaw tighten._

_“…Natasha isn’t the same as him.”_

_“I never said she was.” Fury remarked, and nodded to the paper. “…Anomalies in the blood work that the doctors ran here this morning had them concerned. Stark called in Banner and we were able to provide him with the right paperwork to get him an in here to work on her. Using the residual files from SHIELD’s database we were able to correlate the data from her results to her older results and—-”_

_“Cut to the chase. Is she going to be alright?” Clint asked._

_“It’s not that simp—le…” Jemma interjected awkwardly, toying with her fingers._

_“…Then what is it?”_

_He heard Bruce sigh heavily behind him._

_Clint turned at break neck speed._

_“…what is it? Y’think I’m too dumb to understand your medical jargon?”_

_“Clint, no.”_

_“Look, I’m a big boy, alright? I can take it. You tell me the worst and I can deal with it…Is it the fact she’s infertile and she was pregnant? Is it that? Has her body terminated the pregnancy? Is THAT it?”_

_There was a terse silence_

_“Show him.” Fury finally ordered._

_Jemma turned around and picked up a sheet of photographic paper, handing it to him._

_Clint took it and stared at it._

_It was an ultrasound._

_He looked at them._

_“She’s still pregnant.” Fury replied._

_Clint looked at the scan again, trying to make out anything that resembled another human being in the grainy image._

_“…We’ve done checks, and tests, and cross-checked, the fetal heartbeat is strong…”_

_Heartbeat…_

_It was alive._

_Their baby was alive._

_It was alive inside her right now._

_Realization hit him like a bucket of cold water and he stood up. He wasn’t even sure why he stood up._

_“…how.”_

_Jemma looked to Bruce who was stood behind him and Bruce made a conflicted face._

_“…what is it?”_

_Bruce rubbed his face._

_“It’s all conjecture at this point—-I mean, Natasha is a unique case, you know?”_

_“You’re a unique case.” Clint retorted. “Guy goes through the same amounts of radiation you did he’s dead—you know these cases.”_

_Bruce’s lips thinned slightly. Clint he knew he hated to talk about it, or have anyone else talking about it._

_“…It’s all conjecture at this point-” He repeated. “Natasha is a unique case. Her biology is unique. We can’t even be sure how she conceived—and we can’t exactly run tests here.”_

_“…how come she didn’t miscarry?”_

_“There is documented medical evidence that suggests that it is possible to go through heavy trauma and still maintain a pregnancy.” Jemma continued. “I read a report of a woman in the UK undergoing cardiac arrest with significant brain damage and managed to deliver a healthy—”_

_Clint held his hand up and sunk down into his seat again._

_“…What’s Natasha’s prognosis?”_

_Bruce moved to stand in front of Clint._

_“We don’t know. At the moment, she’s unresponsive which isn’t exactly unexpected given the circumstances. But her vitals are holding.”_

_“When will she wake up?”_

_Jemma moved uncomfortably._

_“…What is it?”_

_Jemma shook her head._

_“Really, nothing.”_

_“As long as Natasha stays in this state, she’s keeping the fetus alive.” Fury declared._

_Clint looked at him._

_“Doctor Banner thinks that Natasha’s decreased levels of activity, awareness, and repressed physical condition could be maintaining the fetus.”_

_Clint’s jaw dropped an inch._

_“…And if she wasn’t?”_

_Bruce gave shrugged in a non-committal fashion._

_“I couldn’t say.”_

_Clint was struggling to understand. He looked down at the slip of grainy grey in his fingers and tried to understand what this could mean for him, and Natasha, and their baby._

_“…out.” he finally said._

_“S-Sorry?” Jemma muttered._

_“Everyone out.”_

_Fury’s eyebrows arched over the sunglasses._

_“You too sir. Sorry.”_

_Fury could have hit the roof. He could have brought seven layers of hell and give Clint an ear battering that would have left his hearing aids ringing for hours._

_But he didn’t. He nodded to Stark, and got up._

_Jemma was about to scramble after him when Clint grabbed her wrist._

_She had a skinny little wrist._

_“Not you.”_

_“…Agent Barton. I really don’t know m—”_

_“You’re stayin’.” His eyes moved to Bruce. “You too, big guy.”_

_Bruce sighed and crossed to where Jemma and Clint were, sitting in Fury’s now vacant chair._

_Clint rubbed his hands over his face that was starting to feel tired, sluggish and itchy again._

_He looked at the pair. At Simmons who was sat there like she was a bag of nerves in a pony tail and cashmere vest and Bruce who looked like he’d had a few rough nights sleep before this had even happened._

_“…Alright. No bullshitting. No gentle stuff. No analogies. Hit me with what you know.”_

_Clint sat there for the best part of forty-five minutes while Jemma stammered over facts that Bruce had put down as solid truth._

_That Natasha had been unconscious for over 24 hours now, and that it wasn’t a good thing._

_That any loss of consciousness that lasted beyond 24 hours suggested severe brain trauma. That although her vitals were strong, they weren’t at this time capable of sustaining her unaided and that she’d need that metal plate in her skull no matter what._

_Jemma concluded with what Clint thought was unnecessary emotion that what they were dealing with was a coma._

_Clint sat back in his chair, still clutching the picture of Natasha’s ultrasound and let the weight of it all fall back on him as Jemma sniffed hard a few times._

_Comas were always what happened on TV soap operas. They were long, tedious plot devices that usually ended in amnesia and lasted out over a few seasons, usually with dramatic dashes to theater and family members getting all hammy with slow-mo shots._

_He knew that wasn’t probably the same in real life…_

_He took a deep breath but something his lungs was stopping it getting all the way down._

_He looked at Bruce, his eyes becoming cloudy and uncomfortable again._

_“…Give me some good news?”_

_Bruce looked to the scan._

_“She conceived 12 weeks ago. Healthy amounts of amniotic fluid, placenta is in a good position, good length for the fetus. No shown markers for genetic abnormalities at this point. The fetus, given the whole ordeal that its mother went through, is remarkably healthy.”_

_Clint felt a balloon of pride surface in his stomach and the tears rolled over their flesh dam and over onto his cheeks._

_“…I guess that’s somethin’.”_

_Jemma nodded, her own cheeks flushed._

_“…can I see her?”_

_Bruce nodded._

_“Sure. Come on.”_

_Jemma stood up._

_“Excuse me, Agent Barton. Doctor Banner…” she said softly and left the room._

_“…What’s with Dame Maggie Smith?” Clint mumbled, dragging his cuff over his cheeks to dry them._

_“Huh?”_

_“…The actress. Getting all emotional over there.”_

_“Her lab partner has been in a coma for a few months.” Bruce replied. “…one of their team was undercover Hydra.”_

_Clint winced._

_*_

_Bruce led Clint into the quiet private room where Natasha was. Clint’s eyes flicked quickly towards her, surveying her for anything he could hang his hope on._

_He had to admit, her colour had improved though she still looked a long way from healthy but she hadn’t really changed position since he’d left her._

_He leaned over the bed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead just below the bandages and smiled at her, stroking her cheek._

_“I’m here, babe. I’m here…”_

_Bruce stood the other side of the bed._

_“…Ideally, you should be talking to her as much as you can.”_

_“..huh?”_

_“Talking…Also, touch, scent, anything that could pull her back into consciousness. There is a lot of evidence to suggest that external stimuli can help her recover.”_

_“…So, like stroking her hair and hands? Talking?”_

_Bruce nodded._

_“It can’t hurt.”_

_Clint looked at Natasha. Her face was passive, her lips parted with a plastic tube._

_“She doesn’t look like she can feel or hear anything….Kinda hoping she can’t.”_

_“She’s not in pain. Believe me. I’ve checked her levels and she’s not in pain. Just…give it a go.”_

_Clint nodded._

_“You got it.”_

_Bruce checked his watch._

_“…Let me go and brief the Doctor on what you know, see if he can get a Ob-Gyn to come and talk to you about the care they’re gonna provide for her. This is a…very unique case.”_

_Clint nodded, resetting his gaze on Natasha._

_“Thanks…oh, and…tell the girl I’m sorry about—…uh…”_

_“Fitz.” Bruce replied. “His name’s Fitz.”_

_He nodded._

_Bruce bowed his head in understanding, and headed out of the room._

_The silence settled like a sudden, heavy snowfall interjected by the steady beeping of medical equipment._

_Clint looked over Natasha, her hand on her stomach, her other sat besides her on the bed._

_Clint felt a strong urge to put his hand on her stomach too, to make some contact with the baby whose heart was still beating, even now._

_But, he was so afraid to touch her. That if he did, she’d fall apart like meringue._

_He looked back at the scan in his left hand and ran his thumb across the shading he was certain was the baby._

_Clint took the picture and put it under her hand, guiding her fingers over it._

_“You hold on, Okay? You hold on for us. I promise you, I’m not going anywhere, babe.”_

*

“Good Morning, Mr. Barton!”

Clint looked up from the magazine and saw Natasha’s personal day nurse walk in, carrying a tray.

“Evelyn, call me Clint, for God’s sake.” he chided playfully and put the magazine down.

Evelyn smiled and put the tray down on the vacant table next to her bed before checking Natasha’s monitors.

“You missed it earlier…” she began, checking her fob watch and opening the cannula channel on her right hand.

“What did I miss?” asked Clint, taking Natasha’s left hand and rubbing his thumb along the thin skin on the back of her hand.

“She was fidgeting again.” Evelyn smiled as she injected the preprepared injection into it.

“Was she?” Clint smiled, looking back at the woman on the bed. “Why don’t you ever do that while I’m here?”

“We were washing her hands and face and she was making flinching faces.” Evelyn smiled, wiping the area around the cannula and closing it before putting her hand back.

“Wow…” Clint smiled and stood up, running his hand through her hair. “…what was it baby?” he asked, his thumb brushing over her lower lip.

Evelyn stowed everything back on the tray.

“It’s a good sign.” she smiled. “A very good sign.”

Clint ran his hands to her rounded, eight month shaped stomach.

“…She kickin’ babe? Can you feel her movin’? Is that it?”


	9. Feint and Faint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Hill tries to make sense of it all, and Clint feels as if they are getting nowhere in this situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. I have been having quite bad writers block and dreadful lack of confidence in my writing

_Clint sat there, the scan of their baby in his fingers as he stared into the distance._

_There was no distance._

_He was sat in the foyer of the intensive care unit while the Doctors performed more tests and scans._

_There was a cold cup of tea next to him, brought to him by one of the nurses in the mean time._

_Occasionally, he would steal a glance at the picture. The grainy, poor quality slip of hope between his fingers and try and work out what he had to do next._

_The doctors told him to expect that Natasha would miscarry. Bruce had suggested that Natasha and the child could survive._

_And all Clint could think of was to wrap his arms around her and snuggle close, hoping when he woke, he would wake in their bed and all of this would be a nightmare again._

_“Barton.”_

_Clint blinked twice, and looked up to see a welcome face. A break from the stress. Someone superior._

_“Commander…” he got to his feet quickly and put the picture in his pocket._

_She did something very unusual._

_She put her hand on his shoulder._

_“I just got back. I’ve been debriefed. Where is she?”_

_“Tests.” Clint breathed, relieved that she knew everything already._

_Relaying what had happened had become a grueling affair and he felt that every time he told someone what had happened to Natasha, what was happening, it felt a little more hopeless._

_Maria nodded._

_“Is it true?”_

_“Yup.”_

_Clint knew what she meant, even if she didn’t say it._

_Maria sighed and looked at her watch before sitting down. Clint followed out of respect._

_Maria ran her hands though her hair and let her hands rest on her cheeks._

_“Captain Rogers told me that the shooter was Hydra. I’m sorry for that.”_

_Clint nodded before realizing that it was the first time that anyone had bothered to apologize for Natasha’s injuries._

_“'twasn't you.” he mumbled. “Some asshole who had an order. Probably Garrett, right? They said he was Hydra.”_

_Maria shrugged._

_“Someone higher up ordered the hit. Stark has tightened security left, right and center.”_

_“Yup.” Clint agreed._

_“…they gave you the choice between Natasha and her baby, right?” Maria said quietly, in her usual clipped way._

_“Not yet, but you know it’s comin’. Bruce said we should wait, see how things pan out after he reviews the tests he did. The Doctors are saying that it could kill her…kill the baby.”_

_Maria looked at him._

_“You don’t want either.”_

_Clint shook his head._

_“Nope. I want Natasha to wake up. I want to know what she knew, if she knew. I wanna know if she knew, and still tried to protect Fury.”_

_Maria nodded._

_“…Its a difficult choice to make, Barton.” she continued._

_Clint nodded and rubbed his badly shaven cheek._

_“They keep askin’ after her parents…brothers and sisters…”_

_Maria shrugged again, a single shrug that stayed in the top half of her body. Her signature: ‘Give an answer, but nothing else’_

_“Natasha doesn’t even know what happened to them. She told us that they were dead. We had no reason to doubt it, especially given the program…That program did some very…’curious’ things, speaking of which—”_

_“We weren’t being careful. Hell, we thought she was infertile…” Clint sighed, cupping his face between his hands again._

_“How long were you two together?” Maria asked. “Officially.”_

_Clint sat back in his chair again, gazing out towards the vending machine._

_“…I guess since SHIELD is defunct now you can’t really do us for interpersonal relationships in the work place—Six months.”_

_“…and she’s three months pregnant?”_

_Clint nodded._

_“…do you think she knew?”_

_“That’s the million dollar question, Hill.” he replied. “Did she?”_

_Maria looked at her watch. A life time lived on the clock now a habit._

_“What brings you here anyway?” he asked, trying not to sound like he was trying to get rid of her._

_“Fury.” she replied softly. “He had something he wanted to tell you. All of you.”_

_“Fury said.” he agreed. “…what is it?”_

_Maria shook her head._

_“I have to take you the tower. Tell you there.”_

_“I’m not leaving.”_

_“I’m not asking.”_

_Clint’s lips parted in dismay and he shook his head._

_“Sorry Maria. I don’t care what you’ve gotta tell me, I don’t care if it’s level 10, top secret, blood oath kinda shit. I’m not leavin’ her side.”_

_“You won’t want to be here when you know what it is. You’ll want to be with the others. You’ll need to talk.”_

_Clint’s jaw tightened and he closed his mouth._

_“Is it about Hydra?”_

_She shook her head._

_“About Natasha?”_

_She shook her head again._

_“…about what?”_

_“Coulson.”_

_Clint’s stomach tugged and he felt Natasha’s absence keenly._

_“…I’ll come with you. But when she’s back, and she’s comfortable again. Okay?”_

_Maria checked her watch again._

_“Alright.” she nodded._

_Clint’s already disturbed mind was disheveled further by Coulson’s name making an appearance. He’d been dead for 6 months now, and Clint, being indirectly responsible for his death had tried to push all thoughts of his former handler from his mind but what new information could she have that would bring to the table at this point._

_“…Can I see?”_

_Clint looked at her._

_“Huh?”_

_“The scan.”_

_Clint looked to his pocket and gave a soft breath of agreement before handing it to her._

_Maria looked at it, tilted her head slightly and nodded._

_“I can’t see what i’m meant to be seeing so i’ll go with the fail safe of ‘Looks like you’.”_

_The elevator doors opened behind them and Clint nearly gave himself whiplash to look._

_They were bringing her back._

_He sprang to his feet and made his way to the Doctor who was walking along side her._

_“How is she?”_

_“…Stable.” the doctor replied. “We’ll know more in a few hours. We’re having her results fast tracked due to her circumstances.”_

_“…Is that it? What did you see on the scan? Can’t you at least tell me if it was good news?”_

_“Clint.” Maria said firmly, bringing him to heel._

_Clint looked to Natasha and nodded before falling back a few steps and letting them take her into the room._

_“You’re a wreck, Barton.” she said quietly. “You need a good night’s sleep and a hot meal or two.”_

_“I had enough sleep…” he sighed looking away from the door they had pushed her through._

_“You’re not gonna be in any state to help her like this. You’re living on your nerves.”_

_“I need to be here when she wakes.”_

_“Clint, she’s on life support.”_

_“And? I heard of a guy who was on life support, he woke up with the tubes in his mouth and everything!” Clint snapped. “What kinda guy would I be if I wasn’t there. I need to explain to her, and tell her that it’s okay and that she’s gonna be fine.”_

_Maria’s gaze became harder._

_“Barton. You need to calm down…this isn’t gonna help her.”_

_These conversations were circular with no point and no way of helping him or her out of this situation._

_Clint walked away from Maria and towards the room where the nursing staff were readjusting Natasha to the room, tucking wires back to where they had to be._

_He was starting to feel like a phantom, haunting the rooms of the hospital. The nurses gave him a glance, then shared a private glance between each other as if to say: ‘Here he is again.’_

_The Doctor walked past him with a folder as the student nurse brushed her hair away from her face and tried to tuck it behind her ear._

_“No…no…” he began softly, walking over. “She never has it behind her ear…”_

_The nurse startled and looked at him._

_“…sorry, it’s…it drives her nuts. Uh…” he mumbled, trying to explain that an exposed ear was 2% more of a target. “…she likes her hair over her ear.”_

_The nurse nodded, but was surveying him with something like pity._

_“…anything else?” she prompted softly._

_Clint shook his head but then looked at Natasha again._

_“…she really hates having cold feet, so…before bed she’ll usually pull on a pair of socks.”_

_The nurse nodded, fastening her hands in front of her._

_“She hates dirty fingernails. Her fingernails are always clean…so…you’d need to get rid of all of this blood…” he mumbled picking up a less entangled hand and brushing his fingers over he fingertips._

_Natasha’s eyelids flickered._

_“…Nat?!”_

_The nurse startled forwards as the other jumped back from the bed._

_“Her eyes. Her eyes moved!” Clint declared. “Nat…Nat it’s me, it’s Clint…”_

_“Go and get the Duty Doctor.” the nurse nodded to the student._

_The student nurse skittered out as Clint sat on Natasha’s bed and stroked her cheek softly._

_“…Nat, come on…you’ve walked through snow storms that went on all night to get to me before now. Don’t give up.”_

_The door swung open and the Duty doctor was stood there._

_“What happened?”_

_“…she moved. Her eyes flickered. I touched her fingertips and her eyelids flickered.”_

_The Doctor moved closer and Clint moved back, eager to give him some room._

_Clint watched as the Doctor pulled back Natasha’s eyelid and flicked a pen torch into her eyes and checked her over, checked the monitors and the feeds and looked for anything that suggested she was in danger or in pain as Clint watched, and prayed that she’d open her eyes and push the Doctor off of her and ask where everyone was._

_But she didn’t._

_She lay there._

_Clint’s heart dropped like a stone falling into a calm, still pond._

_“…what happened? Why did she stop?”_

_The Doctor met him with the expression he was sick of seeing._

_That expression that was pure pity._

_“…Sometimes, coma patients make what we call ‘Automatic’ movements. Blinking, swallowing reflexes, sometimes sighing.”_

_“…coma?” Clint repeated. “…we’re, we’re calling it a coma now?”_

_The doctor closed his eyes bitterly as if he had slipped up._

_“…a period of unconsciousness that has lasted as long as Natasha’s has, we term as a coma.”_

_Clint felt sick again and swallowed the nausea down, a cold sweat came out on his skin and he felt light headed._

_“…coma patients, coma patients are sick, and they die. They die and Natasha’s not going to die…”_

_Why was everything going white?_

_Oh boy, this felt just like when that staff touched his…_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_“…Barton?”_

_He opened his eyes again, expecting Natasha to shove him out of bed and get ready for work but saw a worried looking Maria stood over him and a student nurse._

_He began to struggle up._

_“…relax…” Maria urged, a firm hand on his shoulder. “You passed out.”_

_Clint looked around, surveying his surroundings._

_He was on the floor of a hospital room and his back and head hurt._

_“Mr. Barton. You need rest just as much as she does.” The student nurse piped up._

_Clint hadn’t passed out since Natasha had put him out on the helicarrier. A hot flush spread over him in embarrassment as Maria pulled him to stand._

_“I’ll take him home. Please keep us informed.” she said to the nurse._

_Clint stood and nodded to the nurse before stumbling with him._

_“…That Doctor’s stronger than he looks. He caught you.” Maria remarked._

_“…Natasha’s in a coma.” Clint reiterated. “…Maria, she’s in a coma.”_

_“She’s in a better state than you right now. You keep this up and you’ll be in the bed next door.”_

_“…that wouldn’t be a tragedy.”_

_Maria stopped and pulled him to attention in a way that made Clint feel like he should be guarding his solar plexus._

_“…You stop that shit right now, Barton. I don’t do pity parties and you’re certainly not getting one here and now. If you want someone to pat your head and wipe your ass you go see Pepper Potts but right now you’re gonna suck it up and man up.”_

_Clint swallowed back shock and pain before nodding, a little relieved that it was what he needed to hear right now._

_Someone TELLING him what to do._

_“…we’re going back to the tower. We’re gonna get you something to eat and drink and then we’re gonna talk about Phil Coulson…”_

_Clint nodded again._

_“Do we understand each other?”_

_Clint nodded a final time._

_“Good.”_

_She put her hand under his armpit and propelled him towards the elevator._

_“…Kinda see why Fury put you as his number 2 now…”  
_


	10. For whose good?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, Clint is always the last to know...

_  
Clint had only been driven by Maria once, and that was when he had been arrested after falling through an elderly lady’s roof and had no ID._

_She was the only free agent in the area and had paid his bail before marching him out as if she was an irked aunt._

_But this time, the drive, instead of punctuated remarks questioning his mental stability, there was silence._

_Maria drove a black SUV with an interface that was pure Stark, and comfortable leather interior. But Clint was trying to wrap his head around the word ‘Coma’._

_Coma insinuated permanent, or long term, and at this point the idea of seeing Natasha’s stomach grow with life while her body remained in the gulf between life and death was too much._

_There was a brisk chirp and Maria, without taking her eyes off the road tapped the radio._

_The display said: ‘Pepper Potts’_

_“Maria?” Pepper’s voice said, coming from the speakers under the seats._

_“Shoot.” Maria began._

_“Is…Clint with you?”_

_Peppers voice sounded tentative._

_“I got him.” Maria began._

_“I’m sorry, Maria. Can you make a stop?”_

_Clint moved his gaze from the passing scenery at the side of the freeway to Maria._

_“…I can, where?”_

_“…Natasha’s apartment. Her New York place.”_

_“…why?” Clint croaked._

_“I’ve been through her things, to have them dry cleaned…and I haven’t found anything suitable for her to wear at the hospital…”_

_Clint was slightly outraged. Why had Pepper been going through Natasha’s suitcases?_

_“…suitable…” Clint remarked, disdain in his voice._

_“I…Clint, she can’t wear those slips at the hospital.”_

_“…I doubt Natasha has anything that you’d consider ‘Suitable’.” he repeated, anger rising in his tone. Why was he so angry? About lingere?_

_“I will head to the apartment, and see if I can find something until we have chance to go and get her something better.” Maria decided, looking to Clint with a quelling glance._

_Clint slumped back down into his seat again._

_“Thank you Maria, does Clint have a key?”_

_Clint nodded._

_Of course he had a fucking key, they were lovers._

_Maria nodded._

_“Yes, Pepper. I’ll be right over.”_

_“Thank you Maria.” her voice was relieved._

_Maria touched the screen again and set her hands back on the wheel at ten and two._

_“…She’s trying to help.” she began._

_“She’s meddling.” retorted Clint. “Natasha’s clothes are clean, they don’t need fucking laundering again.”_

_“She’s trying to help.” Maria repeated. “She’s there, and Bruce is testing samples and working on theories. Stark is reprogramming security. Steve is with Falcon tracing Hydra cells in the tri-state area and there is precious little she can do other than have Natasha’s things cleaned, and organise flowers to be delivered. She can’t even visit without your say so. So cut her some slack, and when you DO see her, you thank her for her kindness in this difficult time.”_

_Clint went to snap back a Maria but he saw that her jaw was set, and decided that it was not below Maria to pull over and leave him on the free way to make his own way back._

_Clint settled back into his seat once more and tried to recall if he had ever seen Natasha wearing anything below the kneeline in bedroom attire._

_The answer was of course no, and everything she had left behind was probably the same stuff she had in her case. Natasha was a beautiful woman, and probably didn’t wear the ‘mama-smocks’._

_“…she’ll need new clothes soon anyway.” Maria continued. “…she’s going to get bigger, and Victoria’s secrets don’t do maternity lingerie.”_

_Clint closed his eyes._

_“Stop.”_

_“You gonna hurl?”_

_“No. Just stop…please, don’t make me think, there’s a chance.”_

_He felt Maria’s eyes burn into him._

_“…if you say that, its almost like there’s a chance they’ll both be fine. I don’t want that chance to be dangled in front of me then ripped away…”_

_Maria didn’t say anything else._

_In fact, she didn’t speak until they got to the apartment._

_Clint didn’t stop to ask how Maria knew where Natasha lived, but instead got out and headed to her building, up the stairs, with Maria on his heels and to her apartment door._

_Clint fished his remaining keys out of his pocket, found the right one and unlocked her door._

_He stepped over the tumble of junk mail on the mat, none of them actually addressed to her directly and looked around._

_The place smelled of her._

_Of the hairspray she wore, of the perfume she wore, of her laundry detergent, of her cooking, of that spray she got from bed, bath and beyond._

_Of her._

_It was overpowering and it was fading._

_“…Bedroom this way?” Maria asked, gesturing to the bathroom._

_Clint shook his head and gestured through to the living room._

_“Straight through, hang a right.”_

_Maria nodded and walked into the apartment._

_Clint sighed and picked up the mail and looked for a trash can. He remembered Natasha had this fancy pedal bin in the bathroom_

_Walking in, he pushed open the door and could smell the talc she used on her skin still in the air._

_He pushed it out of his mind, thinking that he could always take it to the hospital with her toiletries and…_

_Clint squinted into the bathroom bin._

_A thin, pale blue cardboard box was in the trash amongst the peach coloured toilet tissue._

_Shaking slightly, he knelt down to pick it out of the trash, he knew what it was._

_He fucking knew._

_Reading the italic writing on the front next to the picture of the woman on the box who was cupping her flat stomach he reached into the trash to recover what the kit contained. A thin foil wrapper…a white stick with two pink lines._

_Clint felt his knees go weak._

_She knew she was pregnant when she took that bullet._

_He slid down the white bathroom door and sat, staring at this white stick that was meant to be everything wonderful and instead was all kinds of everything wrong._

_“…Clint…do you know which drawer she keeps her—what are you doing?”_

_Maria was peering down at him as if he were insane._

_Clint was holding the thin white stick with a shaking, tight fist._

_“…she fucking knew she was pregnant…” he said shakily, in a quiet voice._

_Maria took the stick and checked it._

_There was a heavy silence._

_“…fuck.”_

_Clint looked up at Maria as she studied the stick._

_“…She knew she was pregnant, and she took a bullet for a FUCKING DEAD MAN!”_

_“Clint, lower your voice, there are neighbours.”_

_“DON’T TELL ME TO LOWER MY VOICE, HILL.” Clint began, scrambling to his feet, crushing the box under his foot as he did. “SHE WAS PREGNANT WITH MY BABY AND SHE TOOK A FUCKING BULLET FOR A MAN WHO IS DEAD!”_

_Maria looked him straight in the eye._

_“Natasha is a soldier. She did what she was taught to do since she was Nine years old.”_

_“Don’t give me that shit!” Clint snarled, pushing her out of the way as he stormed to the living room, looking for more evidence. “She’s not some brainwashed teenage sap anymore, she’s a grown woman with her own mind, she could have let the bullet hit, if she knew that she had my kid inside her!”_

_“Clint…” Maria began, a soft touch of scorn to her voice now._

_Clint felt his eyes burn, his cheeks scorch hot, and it was too late…His hand was gripping his hair, pulling his scalp taut, trying to bleach the anger and the rage from himself with pain, just like he did when he was a kid and his dad was beating the shit out of his mom…_

_“THIS ISN’T FAIR!” he bellowed at her, finally. “I HAD A SHITTY LIFE AND I FUCKING DESERVED A GOOD ONE WITH HER. I DESERVED THE LIFE I SHOULD HAVE HAD AS A KID. I DESERVED THE RIGHT TO BE LOVED AND TO LOVE IN RETURN AND NOW ITS FUCKING OVER. I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING NOW. SHE FUCKING KNEW! SHE FUCKING KNEW!!”_

_The tears were coming thick and fast and he wanted to run, and run, and run and hide like some wounded animal._

_Clint took a deep breath in and turned away as his body took over and he just sobbed._

_He sobbed a few, unabashed, unrestrained sobs, perfectly aware by his scalding ears and the deathly silence in that apartment that still rang with the echoes of his shouts and the wake of silence that followed that he was not alone._

_He sniffed hard, and wiped his face on his rough jacket sleeve, still torn up, a ragged cloth of pain in his chest._

_He could hear Maria breathing._

_“…Coulson’s alive.”_

_Clint lifted his head._

_“…what?” he asked thickly._

_There was a sigh, he turned to see Maria looking awkward._

_“…Coulson lives.”  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its so short, but it felt right to end it there.


	11. Conjecture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reeling after the revelation that Coulson lives, Clint finds another blow in what Doctor Banner has to say.

_“When Loki stabbed Coulson with the sceptre, it went through his heart.” Maria began heavily to the assembled group of Tony, Pepper, Bruce, and Steve. “…He died a few minutes later.” She looked to Steve who was sat opposite her. “He died. Fury just couldn’t let him go. And knew that in the event of an Avenger dying, the experimental serum experimental serum known as GH-325.”_

_“GH 325…?” asked Pepper. “Is that a drug?”_

_“…It’s an organic serum which regenerates damaged tissue to its original state. It was designed to heal them…to bring them back.”_

_Bruce moved uncomfortably in his chair as Tony made a muted tut._

_“…Fury believed that Coulson was worth it.” she began. “Natasha was given orders to reveal this to you the evening she was shot.”_

_“Did Natasha know?” Pepper asked._

_“Not yet. Fury had given her a document that was destroyed as soon as she was admitted to hospital. He wanted to reinforce the fact that he trusted her implicitly after what happened.”_

_“Where is he?”_

_Everyone looked at Clint who was still reeling from the fact that his handler was in fact alive and had just spoke._

_“I can’t say. After the fall of SHIELD, we’re trying to keep everything on a level 10.”_

_“Level 10 no longer exists, Hill.” Began Steve. “SHIELD fell, and so did all of the curtains around it. I didn’t smash it down to restart this…”_

_Maria nodded slowly._

_“Either way, I can’t tell you. I’m not even sure where he is right now. He’s off the grid.”_

_“They reanimated his body?” Bruce mumbled, looking to Maria. “…I’m sorry, but are we talking…Romero style? Or are we talking Resident Evil..?”_

_“The GH-325 was still under testing when it was used. It was an emergency, we aren’t exactly sure how it works.”_

_“…Does HE know?” Pepper asked._

_Maria nodded._

_“How is he taking it?” Asked Steve._

_“You know Phil…” Maria half smiled. “He came back and asked where his cards were, asked if Lola was okay, wondered if we won…”_

_Steve bowed his head as Clint got up._

_They all looked to him._

_“I have to get back to the hospital.”_

_“No, Clint. You’re staying here.” Pepper began, sighing, getting up._

_“No. I’m leaving.”_

_Bruce sighed, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Clint.”_

_Clint looked to Bruce, the unusual tone of urgency in his voice confusing him._

_“…I need to talk to you about Natasha.”_

_Clint sat down again just as quickly as he had got up._

_Bruce lifted his head and looked to Tony, quickly breaking eye contact and half sighing in the way he usually did when he had to ask someone for something that would inconvenience them._

_Tony got up._

_“Guys, come on…I have to show you this new thing I’m working on in the basement, I think you’re gonna like it..” he urged, trying to get the rest of them to follow._

_It did not take much prompting although Hill did not seem to want to follow._

_Bruce waited for them to all leave before turning to Clint._

_Clint noticed that in the afternoon light, the lines around the Doctor’s eyes seemed to be in greater relief than usual and that his eyes seemed bloodshot._

_He and Nat had often guessed that Bruce didn’t sleep well, after all, could you sleep well knowing that you were one bad dream away from tearing your room apart? But this guy looked slightly more sleep deprived than usual._

_“…I’ve been looking at the results.” he began, looking to Clint, unable to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds and instead focusing on his hands._

_“Yeah?” Clint prompted. “…what about ‘em?”_

_“…Natasha’s cellular activity is…unique.” he began._

_Clint nodded. He knew that._

_The experimentation that she endured in the red room involved some pretty nasty chemical intervention that changed her molecular activity, her cells, her immunity._

_She was unique alright._

_Natasha had explained it to him as when he had Flu, she’d get a slight cold. When he had a broken arm for six weeks, she’d have a hairline fracture in two._

_Her healing was more advanced by normal standards, but nothing that put her at superhuman levels._

_“…Looking at the scans, the bloods, the unique circumstances, the files on her past injuries and the levels at which she has healed…I’m trying to put together a projection for the next few weeks, months…” he continued._

_Clint nodded more urgently._

_“Yeah?”_

_“In normal circumstances, what happened to Natasha, a gun shot to the head at a close range, even if it didn’t pierce the brain and cause instant death, would still have a negative effect on the brain’s ability to function and leave the possibility of long term coma, or persistent vegetative state.”_

_Clint’s jaw dropped open._

_“She moved her eyes earlier…” he retorted, slightly defensive._

_“That’s…that’s good news, Clint.” Bruce nodded slowly._

_“That’s a good sign, right?”_

_“Right.”_

_“So she’ll wake up soon…right?”_

_“Clint…”_

_The Doctor’s hand was up now, asking for him to stay quiet. Something unusual for him._

_“…Given Natasha’s past healing times, we have to take into account that due to her time in Russia..” he began delicately. “…In that program, that the tampering with her physiology may mean that she may be able to heal more efficiently than say, you or…or Tony, or—”_

_“Are you saying she’s gonna make it?” Clint asked hopefully, trying to unscramble the Doctor’s tiptoeing around facts._

_“No…I…” Bruce took a deep breath. “I’m saying it could be possible, but, this data, it’s…case-by…”_

_“Case-by-case,yes, I know.” Clint began impatiently. “But you said that for a reason…Will her…uh…the…physiology, help her get better faster?”_

_“But…is it possible…its also not possible…” The man rubbed his eyes again. “…the pregnancy…I…with my theories, my projections, the possibility of it, and the impossibility…”_

_“Just spit it out.”_

_“It’s probably best for the pregnancy if Natasha doesn’t recover.” Bruce said quickly._

_Clint felt the bottom drop out of his stomach._

_“…what?”_

_“At least not yet…” Bruce said softly, looking him in the eye briefly._

_“What are you saying?” Clint asked. “…are you saying she’s…the pregnancy is hurting her? What…?”_

_“Natasha’s body isn’t built to maintain a pregnancy. Certainly, it can conceive. But, her body is designed to attack any forms of illness, any form of weakness and destroy it within a short time frame. Measles, mumps, chickenpox, cancer…Nothing survives to compromise her immune system…”_

_Clint swallowed._

_“Her body would view the fetus as a parasite, a resource-sucking leech that needed extermination…”_

_“She’s three months pregnant, Bruce.” Clint said, a heavy weight in his gut._

_“And she would never make it to four…as soon as the fetus started to demand more…”_

_“She’s going to lose the baby.”_

_“No…Clint.” Bruce replied. “…At least, I don’t think so.”_

_Clint couldn’t say anything more, not until Bruce had explained. His tongue was frozen and his throat was filled with mud._

_“…My theories, my…understanding of it…It’s all conjecture at the moment, but it stands to reason that if her immune system is compromised, weakened? Then there is a good chance that the fetus stands a better chance of survival. The coma could let the pregnancy pass undetected by her aggressive immune system…A repressed immune system, could mean that she’d carry to term.”_

_Clint looked to the white rug on the floor and ran his hand through his hair._

_“…As long as she is in the coma, the baby stands a chance…?” he asked._

_“It’s the theory that I think holds the most water, at the moment.” Bruce added._

_“…and the birth?” Clint asked._

_“…let’s take it as it comes.”_

_Clint nodded and swallowed, ambivalence numbing his emotions on the surface and stilling the quaking inside of him._

_“After the birth, will she recover?”_

_Bruce shrugged._

_“…I really hope so.”_

_Clint sat back and let his head rest back on the chair, the gravity of it all falling on him. Coulson, Natasha, the baby._

_But there was something in his chest now that was something like hope as he realized that there was a real possibility that in five months time, he could be holding his child in his arms._

_“…I didn’t know that you and Agent Romanoff were an item…”_

_Clint looked up to see that Bruce was now stood, and he was hovering near the bar area, suddenly quite formal._

_“Uh…yeah.” Clint replied. “…for about six months actually.”_

_Bruce nodded._

_“Hmm.”_

_Clint looked to him, trying to gauge what this reaction was._

_“…I need to do some more work. I think Tony wanted to talk to you.” he continued as he walked briskly towards the elevator. “…you have my cell, if you have questions.”_

_Clint watched, his mouth slightly ajar as Bruce made a hasty escape._

_Deciding his head hurt way too much to try and make sense of it, he sat back in the chair trying process it all._

_Natasha was in a coma. But it was keeping the baby alive. And as long as she was in that state, the baby would survive._

_He ran his hands down his face and let his fingertips rest on his dry lips._

_“…god Nat…why the fuck did you have to protect him…” he whispered to the still, thick air.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize deeply for the delay. RL has once again stemmed the creative flow.


	12. Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint learns a few truths, and faces a fear with a friendly face

_Clint firmly fixed the pot of flowers down into the earth of the grave and dusted off his hands, rearranging the pink and yellow blooms._

_“…There y’go…” he nodded to the stone. “Carnations. From a bona fide florist, not some Petrol station forecourt…”_

_“Looking good…”_

_He looked up and saw a large bulge of yellow cloth followed by a flourish of red hair, barely visible._

_He pulled back, smiling._

_“…Yellow suits you, babe.” he smirked, his hand on Natasha’s bump as he stood up._

_“…It’s the only thing that fits right now.” she replied, putting a hand on her bump, caressing it tenderly._

_Clint leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, his hand over hers, stroking the warm bump between them._

_“…I love you Tasha…” he murmured against her lips._

_“I love you too, Clint.” she smiled at him before kissing him again._

_He looked down at the tombstone, his head pressed to hers._

_“…I wish he was here…” he sighed._

_Natasha wrapped her arm around his waist softly before nodding._

_“…I know. I do too…”_

_He looked at her._

_“…I love you…” he repeated, smiling again._

_She smiled back and released his waist._

_“…hey, go get me that cloth from the car…I want to buff up the stone…”_

_“Let me do it.” he offered._

_“No. I’m pregnant, not helpless.” she teased, squeezing his cheek playfully. “Besides…might get junior moving off of my bladder…_

_He rolled his eyes dramatically before heading back to the car._

_He opened the door and collected a blue cloth from the glove box before shutting the door again and turning back to her._

_“…Tash? What d’y’think to the name C—”_

_A flash of silver from behind the gravestone._

_“Tasha!”_

_Natasha turned to face him._

_There was a gunshot._

_Blood exploded from the back of her head._

_He ran…he ran as fast as he could…and it was an eternity…_

_Her body hit the dirt in front of Coulson’s grave in a terminal cloud of dust as her eyes stared coldly at him._

_“NATASHA!”_

_*_

_“…Clint!”_

_A set of hands were shaking him by his arms._

_He opened his eyes and saw Pepper stood before him._

_“…wh…what??” he asked._

_“…Clint, you were screaming.” Pepper began, her eyes widened in concern, a wrinkle in her brow._

_“…sc-screaming…?” he repeated._

_Pepper sank down besides him._

_He looked around rapidly and saw that it was dark, and that he had been asleep in the main communal room of Stark Tower for the last few hours at least._

_“…I…”_

_“…Nightmare.” Pepper surmised._

_Clint nodded slightly._

_“…how long ha—”_

_“Steve is with her. No change.” Pepper said rapidly._

_Clint ran his hands down his face and rested his head back against the back of the couch._

_“…What was it?” she asked._

_“…fucking dream…fucking nightmare…”_

_“…Clint. Director Fury called…”_

_Clint looked up._

_“…said that he’s going to put Coulson into contact with you when the time’s right.”_

_Clint nodded slowly._

_“People in our line of work just don’t stay dead, right?”_

_Pepper gave him an apologetic smile._

_“…Oh…” Clint dug into his pocket and handed over the scan. “..Uh, that’s…that’s the…”_

_Pepper took it quickly with both hands and tilted it so that it caught the moonlight reflected through the windows. At once, Jarvis illuminated the lamp besides them._

_“…Oh…” she smiled tentatively, she looked at him, as if prompting whether she should pleased or not._

_“…Dunno if you can see…uh…that thing there…” he began, leaning in and brushing it with his index finger. “…that’s its head. Uh, that there…heartbeat, and that’s a leg…or an arm…”_

_Pepper nodded and smiled._

_“…great.”_

_Clint nodded and rubbed his face, getting up._

_“…did she tell you?”_

_“What?” Pepper asked._

_“…That she was pregnant?”_

_“No.”_

_“Really? She knew the morning she went to trial.”_

_“Clint. I don’t bel-”_

_“I found the test in her apartment. Positive.”_

_There was a silence._

_“…She told me that she’d been feeling unwell recently. Nauseous. Tired. I said that it was probably down to the impending trial, maybe left over from her injuries from SHIELD’s fall.”_

_“…Did she say anything else?” Clint prompted, staring down at her._

_Pepper tilted her head and sighed sadly._

_“What do you want to hear?” she asked._

_“…anything I need to know.”_

_Pepper stood up, smoothing down her pencil skirt as she did and walked to him._

_“…She said that she thought she’d had it figured out. SHIELD, Avengers initaitive, a home, you…and then SHIELD fell…Nick going dark, Sitwell dead, half of her team Hydra, Winter Soldier…”_

_Clint nodded._

_“…but she said she had you.”_

_Clint scoffed._

_“…I find that hard to believe. Sometimes, I wondered if Natasha even realized I was there.”_

_It was Pepper’s turn to scoff._

_“Spies hide their weaknesses, right?” she asked. “…perhaps she hid her biggest weakness from the person who could expose it in the worst way.”_

_Clint’s lips parted._

_“…What are you saying?”_

_“She loves you, Clint.”_

_“Yeah, I know but…”_

_“No. She LOVES you. Clint.” she repeated, making it crystal clear in only a way that Pepper Potts did._

_Clint looked towards the buzzing, bubbling city._

_Natasha had slept with him, kissed him, embraced him, held his hand, smiled at him, kissed his head, tended his battle wounds, showered with him, cried in front of him, laughed in front of him, and breathed in the sighs he had made when it got too much._

_But she had never actually told him that she loved him._

_“…how do you know that?”_

_“We talk. Women do that sometimes…”_

_Clint let his head drop a little._

_“…Did she actually say that she loved me?” he asked quietly._

_Pepper folded her arms, a smile playing on he face._

_“…She did.”_

_Clint’s smile broke out on his face before he could stop it. It was a buoy, a beacon in a dark sea._

_“When?”_

_“Over coffee, a month back. I asked her outright and she couldn’t stop laughing.”_

_Clint’s smile faded a little._

_Why had she never told him? He told her at least once a day, more so if he’d had a bit to drink and she’d always called him an idiot._

_Now he may never hear it._

_Clint needed to be alone._

_“…thanks Pepper…I appreciate it. Thanks…”_

_She handed him the scan from the table._

_He took it, and headed towards the elevator, shaking cramp from his legs as he did._

_“I’ll let Jarvis know you want any information if it comes in.” she offered._

_“Thanks…”_

_*_

_He woke up with his face pressed against the pillow and a dull, slowly increasing ringing in his ears._

_“Ngh?” he muttered, looking for it and seeing his alarm clock._

_It wasn’t his alarm clock._

_He sat up, rubbing his cheek._

_“…uh?”_

_“Sir. I have a phone call from Captain Rogers…” Jarvis’ voice came through the dull ringing._

_“Shit, yeah, yeah.” he cleared his throat and adjusted his hearing aid slightly that had been sleep dishevelled._

_“Patching him through now, Agent Barton.”_

_Clint stood up._

_“…hello?” Steve’s voice began. “…Jarvis, did you patch me in?”_

_“Steve? Is everything cool?” Clint began urgently._

_“Clint?”_

_“Yes, Steve. It’s Clint. Is everything cool??”_

_“Yes. ‘Everything’s cool’. I just needed to tell you, they’re running tests later on today to see if she can breathe unaided.”_

_“…right…” Clint nodded. “…I need to sign some paper work then.”_

_“No…”_

_Steve’s voice sounded heavy, as if it were carrying a secret message._

_“…No?” Clint prompted._

_“…No, her ‘dad’ signed for it.”_

_“…dad…?”_

_“…Yeah…and, I kinda…signed his cards for him, if you…get my meaning.”_

_Phil…_

_Phil!_

_“…he’s there?”_

_“Yes, he’s sat with her now.”_

_There was a smile in Steve’s voice._

_“…I’ll be right there…” Clint replied heavily, as though someone had drilled a hole in the bottom of his own voice._

_*_

_Clint had rolled out of bed, changed his clothes, and got straight into the elevator, down through the foyer and out before Jarvis could let any of the household know where he was headed._

_He hopped into a cab, and prayed that he hadn’t decided to leave though he doubted Steve would let him go._

_He pulled up at the hospital, handed the cabbie a note and ran in, not bothering to wait for the lift._

_He hurdled the stairs a few at a time, hauling himself up to the right level and through the doors, startling a nurse._

_“Sorry!” he panted, before darting towards Natasha’s room._

_“Wait!”_

_He looked back at the nurse._

_“I’m sorry, two to a bed. Those are the rules.”_

_Clint panted heavily._

_“…C’mon Sister…I’m her…boyfriend.”_

_“I know, but two to a bed.”_

_“Please, her dad…I…I haven’t seen him for so long…”_

_“Its okay. I need to get a coffee…”_

_Clint looked back to the room._

_Steve was stood there, having spent an entire night at the bedside of a sick friend, he looked as though he had just jumped off of a billboard for Gap._

_“…Thanks…” Clint nodded._

_The nurse nodded and continued towards the sluice room._

_He looked up at Steve who was giving him a smile that Clint dared call almost ‘Fatherly’ and remembered the man before him was actually in his nineties._

_“…is…?”_

_He nodded._

_“…and still, the same man.” Steve smiled at him. “…I’m gonna let you three catch up, get myself some coffee…or at least what that machine thinks it is…”_

_He walked off, Clint swallowed residual muscle strain and breathlessness and walked to the glass door of Natasha’s room._

_There he was._

_Philip Coulson, sat next to Natasha’s bed._

_Alive._

_Clint felt something inside him squirm that had nothing to do with the fact Natasha was in the same position he had left her the afternoon, or morning, previous, and something to do with the man by her side._

_His one hand was wrapped around hers, and the other was stroking her brow softly, an inscrutable look on his face._

_Clint couldn’t wait a moment longer._

_He pushed open the door with a swift squeak._

_“…remember Basra?” Coulson began quietly._

_Clint stopped in his tracks and opened his mouth._

_“…you caught the full force of that detonation and landed on your back.” he continued, still looking at Natasha. “…three days in ICU waiting for you to wake up.”_

_Clint barely recalled it but nodded, knowing his handler’s peripheral vision was perfect._

_“…never get used to seeing you two like this…”_

_“I don’t get used to seeing dead people…” Clint finally said._

_Coulson looked up with a poker-faced expression._

_“Sorry. The afterlife has shitty reception.”_

_Clint looked down, taking his handler’s wit like a playful nudge in the ribs._

_Coulson put Natasha’s hand down gently before moving away from her and standing._

_“Did you get an ID on the shooter?”_

_“We know he’s hydra.” Clint replied, looking to the bed._

_“How high up?”_

_“No idea.”_

_“It was Sloppy. Close range assassination attempt. Failure to land a shot on the intended target—”_

_“He nearly killed her.” Clint finally said, looking back at him._

_“He was a footsoldier.”_

_Clint’s cheeks were reddening._

_“And it worries me that he was able to take out Romanoff. Either it was a lucky shot for him, or their training is more effective, than we assumed.”_

_“…she’s pregnant, Phil.”_

_“Steve told me. I take it, you’re the father.”_

_“Steve didn’t tell you?”_

_“He didn’t need to. God knows I revere that guy, but he’s got the manners of a maiden aunt.”_

_Clint nodded._

_“Prognosis?” Coulson prompted._

_“Early days.”_

_Coulson nodded and looked back at her._

_“…And the baby?”_

_“…early days.”_

_Coulson gave a last, firm nod before sighing._

_“…I took him down, you know.” Clint interjected._

_Coulson looked back at Clint._

_“…Loki. I…I pulled him out of the sky. The Hulk did the rest…”_

_“I know. They told me.” Coulson nodded. “..They told me everything.”_

_Clint felt his soul wither at the word ‘Everything.’_

_What else had they told him?_

_That he had caused the attack on the helicarrier? That he nearly killed Natasha? Jeopardized everything? Become Loki’s personal lapdog?_

_“…they also told me you helped defeat an alien invasion on no sleep, food, or rest for three days after being mentally manipulated into helping a demigod.”_

_Clint nodded slowly._

_“…they told me everything.” he reiterated, sitting back down._

_There was a silence between them._

_“…you died…”_

_“I came back.” Coulson replied quietly, picking up Natasha’s hand again and holding it. “…Fury has this habit of not letting the people he cares about go.”  
_


	13. Debt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Steve and Phil Coulson make Clint understand what Natasha did...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay but I am so proud of this chapter.

_The way Coulson reacted to Natasha was something he thought he’d never see._

_Coulson spent most of the time he was sat there talking to Clint about where Hydra was going now, and how SHIELD planned to rebuild, but in every moment in between, he was tending to her._

_Holding her hand, stroking his fingers over her lapse knuckles, stroking her hair._

_Clint took a while to realize, but when he did it was obvious._

_He was trying to communicate with her._

_Natasha of course, did not respond, as much as Clint hoped that the sound of her dead handler’s voice would bring her back from the dark place in between life and death, she hadn’t so much as flinched._

_“—playground. I have a guy working under me, by the name of Koenig. I have no idea who he is, I’ve never seen his name on documents and he’s a level 6. Then again, Fury’s secrets had secrets…”_

_“…do you think she’s cold?” Clint asked suddenly._

_“…what?” Coulson asked, disturbed in the flow of his speech._

_“Cold? Natasha.”_

_Coulson looked at Natasha’s lapse form, and shook his head._

_“No. I think she’s just right.” he replied._

_“Because brain injuries can do that, they can make the thing in your brain that regulates your body temperature mess up.”_

_Coulson shook his head._

_“She’s fine, she has a blanket, and a nightgown on.”_

_Clint nodded and looked down towards Natasha’s feet._

_“…do you think she has socks on?”_

_Coulson sighed._

_“Maybe.”_

_“I’m goin’ to check.” Clint decided, getting up._

_“Clint.”_

_He looked to Coulson._

_“I don’t think she’s worried about being cold.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I think she’s too focused on trying to get back.” He replied._

_“…really?”_

_Coulson put Natasha’s hand back on the bed and sat focussing up at him, his set his jaw and looked Clint straight in the eye._

_“…As I am effectively, Director of SHIELD as of now…I am going to use my authority to ask you, as an active employee of SHIELD to submit to my direction and sign you off for Therapy.”_

_Clint scoffed, and sat back down._

_“…Phil, I don’t need to sit in some quack’s office and tell him about this.”_

_“Yes, you do. You’re not dealing with this.” he replied with the shake of his head._

_“She’s pregnant with my baby, Phil and she’s fightin’ for her life.”_

_“Exactly. You’re not dealing with this.”_

_“I can’t leave her.” Clint replied._

_“This isn’t a choice. I’m signing you off. Six months. Weekly therapy. There’s a guy here in the city, who worked closely with ex-SHIELD who suffered PTSD…”_

_“…Phil, I haven’t been to see a shrink since New York. I can’t do that again.”_

_“Full pay—”_

_“Phil, please!” Clint’s eyes were wide. “I can’t do that. I need to find the people who did this. I need that closure!”_

_“Barton, this isn’t for discussion.” He replied flatly, sitting back. “Six months, from now, your first therapy session will be in a week. I’ll call you to give you the date and time.”_

_Clint sat back, a tempest in his soul of rage, anger, and frustration._

_“…what do I tell this therapist?” he blurted out. “That I’m havin’ trouble copin’ because I saw my pregnant girlfriend get shot by a neo-Nazi?!”_

_“If that’s what you need to tell him.”_

_“…I can’t go back there.” he replied quietly, shaking his head._

_Coulson’s position shifted slightly._

_“…I didn’t get the full report.”_

_Clint looked up._

_“…Fury didn’t tell you—”_

_“Not everything. The line wasn’t stable. I got the facts, nothing more. I’d like to know what happened.”_

_Clint sat back on his chair and made a gesture towards Natasha._

_“All you need to know.”_

_Coulson’s jaw set once more in the heavy silence._

_“…Fury met you there, he gave Natasha something on me, didn’t he? She was going to tell you all that night.”_

_Clint looked away from Coulson and shrugged._

_“Did the guy shoot? Miss and hit Natasha?”_

_Clint made a scornful noise._

_“…Natasha…”_

_Clint closed his eyes to help him focus again._

_And there it was, in front of his eyes, a horrific screen-saver._

_“…Natasha asked me to wait in the car, said that she needed to give Fury somethin’. I was watchin’ them. Somethin’ caught my eye. You just…know when it’s not right…”_

_He rubbed his still closed eyes._

_“…I got the door open, got the knife from my boot, got the guy square between the eyes and as it was flyin’ through the air…I knew somethin’ was wrong._

_I looked up, and Steve was still standin’, And Sam…and Fury was holdin’ her…and she was…I’ve never seen her like that, Phil. I mean, she was…she was just lyin’ there, in his arms, and her eyes were open and there was blood…everywhere. On the stone, on the grass, the tree. On Fury, on her…just blood…”_

_Coulson’s voice was clear through the haze of memory. It was a rope in the dark._

_“Then?”_

_“…Fury called for an ambulance, we blamed it on gangs, or thieves or somethin’…I don’t remember.”_

_“She took a bullet for him. That bullet was Fury’s…” he said softly. “…She took it and she knew…she knew my baby was inside her.”_

_Coulson’s heavy breath made him open his eyes._

_He was sat forwards, looking at Natasha. The lines around his eyes had never looked so tired before, and they soft grey-blue looked like ice on a pond that was ready to crack._

_But Coulson wouldn’t cry. He never cried._

_“…you said to me…” Clint began. “When I asked you if you ever got angry, or sad when we broke that child prostitution ring in Beijing, that when you got to a certain level, they surgically removed your emotions…”_

_A twitch of amusement perked in Coulson’s cheek._

_“I did say that.”_

_Clint looked back to his comatose lover._

_“…when?”_

_Coulson looked to Clint and sighed._

_“If you didn’t have emotions, you wouldn’t want to do the job. You never lose them, they just get easier to manage.”_

_Clint hadn’t got to that stage yet. If he could find the man who authorized the hit on Natasha he’d exercise every forbidden torture technique he could until the guy took his sweet, last breath._

_Coulson looked at his watch._

_“I gotta go. I’m sorry.” He stood up and leaned over Natasha, stroking her hair back from her head in a tender gesture. “…I’ll be in touch.” he said to Clint._

_“Did you change your cell?” Clint asked, standing._

_“No. I just got much harder to contact.” Coulson half smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”_

_Clint almost didn’t want him to go again._

_He had spent all afternoon in his handler’s company, but having him around made him feel a little less like he was going to fall off of the Earth._

_He nodded._

_“If you need to update me, Maria knows the score.”_

_Clint nodded as Coulson left the room quietly, closing the door behind him._

_He looked over to Natasha again and wondered if she knew what was going on._

_“…funny, right?” he asked her, sat on the side of her bed. “Spend all this time wishing he was here, and when he miraculously shows up, you pull the sleepin’ beauty routine.”_

_He leaned in slowly, his face inches from hers._

_“…Its cliché, but I wish it was me in that bed, not you. I didn’t get you out for you to do this, babe. Why did you do it? Why did you take that stupid bullet?”_

_*_

_Steve returned some time later with a coffee, a paper and looking about as photogenic as when he had left and sat opposite Clint._

_“Coffee?” Clint asked, looking at the Styrofoam cup that was handed to him._

_“They were out of bird food.” Steve joked._

_Clint raised an eyebrow and accepted it._

_“Seems to be what you’re running on these days.” Steve continued. “That and self-loathing, right?”_

_Clint swallowed a bitter gulp that was nothing to do with the taste of the coffee._

_“…you blame yourself.” he replied. “You blame yourself for not stopping it.”_

_Clint shrugged._

_“Textbook analysis there, Doctor Phil. What else you got?”_

_Steve shrugged._

_“No analysis. No day time talk show pseudo-babble. I know how you feel. It’s how I felt when I saw Bucky plummet to the depths.”_

_Clint moved uncomfortably._

_Bucky._

_That bastard shot Natasha, twice and if it wasn’t for him she’d probably be curled up in his arms right now at home, relaxing, watching TV._

_It was like a kick to the stomach._

_He decided to take another gulp of coffee and busy his mouth before his brain intervened._

_“…He was there with me, fighting with me. I should’a told him to stay behind, but he wouldn’t. They took him, did something to him, and he fell…I will never forget the way he looked at me as he was falling…”_

_Clint nearly scorched his throat as he swallowed in his haste to reply._

_“I dunno, maybe it was somethin’ similar to the way Natasha looked at me when I was holdin’ her brains in.”_

_Steve’s blue eyes seemed to glass over as he directed his gaze to Clint who was sat hunched over his coffee._

_Most men would have quailed under the interrogating stare of Captain America but Clint was too pissed off and too hurt to do that. He was full of hot coffee and bubbling fury._

_“This isn’t Bucky’s fault.”_

_“No, sure it ain’t. That’s why Natasha went there today. To give you that dumbass file with his face all over it.”_

_Steve swallowed, some of the color drained from his face with it._

_“Natasha did her job today.”_

_“Natasha isn’t a goddamn tool, or a service. She’s a human being, she finished being a service when she broke free of the KGB.”_

_“I never said she was, Barton.”_

_Clint couldn’t think of a retort that would hurt Steve quite in the way he was hurting right now so instead he put his half full cup down on Natasha’s bed side._

_“Bucky was a tool, just like Natasha was. At the end, on that helicarrier, he wasn’t the same man who shot her, or did any of those things. In the end, he was a confused, scared—”_

_“Please, you’re breakin’ my fuckin’ heart.”_

_Clint stood up and turned away from Captain America, digging his hands into his jeans pockets._

_Steve took a deep breath._

_“This is the act of a gunman told what to do by the enemy, Clint. No different to the field.”_

_“She was off duty! She was deliverin’ files to you at the graveside of a friend, this isn’t ‘the field’, this is personal, this is a personal attack.”_

_“On Fury.” replied Steve. “Natasha acted, and Natasha paid the price, and it was a horrific price to pay. Natasha, is always on duty, Barton.”_

_He went to retort, but he knew Steve was right._

_Clint may have freed her from the grip of the KGB, or the Red Room, but Natasha would never be off duty._

_“…I know she keeps a gun next to her bed, under her pillow…she told me.” Steve replied. “…I know she has a suicide kit in her bathroom. It’s out of date, and from the Soviet Era, but she feels safer knowing its there. She hasn’t used her real name on anything non-work related for years and I know for a fact that she has her funeral arrangements made and stored by her attorney should the occasion arise. Natasha, hasn’t been off duty since 1997.”_

_Clint knew._

_He knew all of this._

_He knew that she went through every day calculating every risk and deciding what to stake on it._

_Whether a taxi was bugged, or a subway train was full of spooks. Whether her mail contained anthrax or ricin, or whether her car had been tampered with._

_Natasha’s life was a gamble for her own safety. And she enjoyed it that way._

_She knew what she was doing when she went to the grave today, that’s why she told him to stay in the car._

_She knew the risks, she wanted him safe._

_Was saving Fury her last instalment on her debt to SHIELD?_

_Clint felt his eyes burn again and knew tears were coming._

_Steve stood up, pushing the chair aside as he did and walked towards him._

_“Don’t think she did this without caring, Clint.” he said softly, a few inches from him. “…she did this because she did care. She did this because she knew Fury needed to be alive. She knew the odds, and she calculated…and this time, she knew she had to—”_

_“Fold.” Clint replied heavily as a tear rolled down his cheek._

_He heard Steve sigh behind him._

_“…Do you need me to do anything?”_

_“…can I have a moment?”_

_Steve nodded to Clint’s back and headed for the door._

_As soon as the door had closed Clint let out a soft sob again and held his face in his hands._

_The realization that his lover, Natasha had done this for the sole reason of repaying this debt she felt she had made him want to scream at her for being so damn stupid but he knew that she was never going to feel any other way._

_She had sacrificed her life, and the life of her child to ensure that HYDRA did not succeed in its assassination of its figure head Nick Fury and now she was paying a price she did not fully expect to pay._

_If only she had let him go with her to that grave, if only she had let him. He may have seen the assassin, he could have ended it before it started. They could have parted ways, Nick going under ground, Coulson giving them orders, Natasha could have told him about the baby, they could have been safe and now everything rested on the outcome of this coma.._

_He collapsed to his knees, crying like a child and mourning the love and stability he and Natasha both deserved that had been ripped away by HYDRA and ripped himself up inside wanting it to end._

_Like an alarm clock in a bad dream._

_He cried on his knees until he finally sat back and looked up at the ceiling through bleary red eyes for some kind of divine assistance._

_Nothing came._

_When Clint was a boy, his eyes puffy and black and blue from a beating, his lip swollen and bloody he would pray to God for his father to die._

_He would pray for his father to fall down the stairs and snap his neck, or to be hit by a car when he was crossing the road when drunk, or to be gored by the bull in the next field and every time, God would leave him disappointed…_

_One night, he answered his prayers, but took his mother as payment and ever since he had hated God for his cruelty._

_As they dressed for the twin funerals of his parents, Barney knelt in front of him and pulled him by his chin to look at him._

_“God ain’t gonna tie your tie, God ain’t gonna put food in your mouth. And God ain’t gonna wipe your ass. But stay close to me, and I’ll make sure you never want for nothin’…”_

_Clint opened his tear-swollen eyes and looked at the ceiling._

_He coughed in the dark silence of the dimly lit room and dug in his pocket for his phone, he scrolled through his contacts, the ones he always carried over to his new number and clicked dial._

_It rung._

_And rung._

_And rung._

_And…_

_“…hullo?”_

_“…It’s me.”_

_“…Clint?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“…shit…” the silence was awkward, though there was a disbelieving smile on the other end. “…how you been?”_

_“…not great. I know this is gonna sound crazy, but how soon can you get to New York?”_

_“New York? Well, lah-di-dah…”_

_“Barn’…please.”_

_“…Shit, that sounds serious, bro. You in trouble?”_

_“…Ain’t I always?”_

_“…Let me call some people who owe me some money, and I’ll get on the next flight. Where are ya?”_

_“…I’ll text you when you land.”_

_“Alright. See you soon, little brother.”_

_“Thanks Barney…”  
_


	14. Positive Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's brother Barney flies in to help his little brother...

_“That's her?” Barney asked, staring at his brothers cellphone screen at a beautiful red headed woman.  
“Yeah.”  
“...you're sleepin' with her?” he repeated, a smirk spreading across his cheeks.  
“Yes.” Clint replied, putting his cell back in his pocket.  
“You gotta teach me how you do it. How come you get her and I'm still beatin' off to an old copy of Victoria's secrets?”   
“We work together...or at least we did.”  
Barney rubbed his stubbled chin and looked up at his brother.  
“...how long has she been in the coma?”  
Clint let his head drop back as he tried to remember.  
“...A few days.”  
“Shot in the head?”  
Clint nodded.  
“...this may be a stupid question, but why?”  
“Remember about a month ago, that big building in Washington went down?”  
“Try-tri-tryskeleton?”  
“Triskelion. Well, SHIELD owned that building.”  
“Your boss piss off the wrong bad guy?” Barney asked, sipping his Americano.  
“He got killed by them. Turns out half of the people I work with are the bad guys. HYDRA. They were there all along. Growing inside of SHIELD like a tumor. Captain America, he--”  
“You know Captain Spandex?”  
Clint gave a reluctant scoff.  
“He ain't that bad...”  
“If you say so.”  
“...Captain America and Natasha and a few others took down Alexander Pierce.”  
“That defence guy, he was a bad guy?”  
“Yeah. He was a real bad guy. Just before it all hit the fan, Natasha leaked SHIELD and HYDRA's secrets onto the net.”  
“Ah.”  
“...and it made her unpopular, to say the least.”  
“Gotcha.”  
“...we were visiting my boss' grave when they shot her.” Clint said sighing. “Handing over something. I was in the car waiting for her—we were moving in together.”  
Barney put his coffee down and listened.  
“...she was protecting a friend. She took the bullet for a friend.”  
Barney leaned forwards.  
“So she's as dumb as you then...”  
If Tony had said this, he'd have punched him square in the nose but from his brother, it was a compliment.  
Clint hung his head with a sad smile.  
“...if she's as hardcore as you say she is, she'll make it.”  
“Its more complicated than that Barn'.”  
“More?”  
Clint rubbed his face and looked around the coffee shop.  
There was an elderly man reading Le Monde at the table next to theirs, and two women drinking lattes ahead. The Barista behind the counter was buffing a burn from the counter.  
Anyone of them could be HYDRA, or a sympathizer.  
Clint took out his hearing aids and put them on the counter. Barney, who had been looking out of the window looked down at the table and up to him quizzically as Clint began to sign.  
“Natasha pregnant.”  
It took Barney a few moments to recognize the motions of Clint's hand but when he did, his mouth dropped open.  
“Pregnant?” Barney signed back, his eyebrows going up questioningly.  
Clint nodded before continuing.  
“I am the father.”  
Barney looked to the window again, his colour dimming Blanche.  
“How long?” he signed a moment later.  
“Three months. Healthy.” he signed back.  
Barney sighed and leaned forwards again. Scratching his chin before signing again.  
“Think she will die?”  
Clint hadn't expected the bluntness of it, it was almost offensive, but he expected no less.  
Clint shrugged and rubbed his nose with the cuff of his jacket.  
Barney leaned forwards and rapped his hand curtly to get his attention before signing.  
“If she is as stubborn as you. She won't die.”  
Clint gave a sad smile and nodded.  
There was a heavy moment as Clint put his hearing aids back in and Barney sat back.  
“....uh, where are you staying?” Clint asked, picking up his cup.  
“I'm gonna look for a motel. I heard there's a few in the area.”  
“Look. I'm staying at Stark's place.”  
“Tony Stark?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Well Lah-di-dah...”  
Clint smiled.  
“The lease on Natasha's place is still open for a little while. But you gotta promise to keep it clean.”  
“Clean? You won't even know I'm there. I won't even go snooping.”  
Clint smirked.  
He'd find nothing of Natasha in there except for a few old pairs of Jeans and a few fridge magnets from Europe. Natasha kept her house like a show home. No tell she'd been there.  
“I mean it Barn', you fuck that place up and when she wakes up, I'll set her on you.”  
He smirked and nodded._

_*_

_Clint took Barney food shopping and installed him in Natasha's apartment. Barney's flight back was a few days time. He was going to stick around in case Clint needed him.  
Clint was just glad to have someone who knew him around again.  
He was making his way to the subway when he saw an elderly Chinese lady offering her last bouquet to everyone who walked by.  
It was a little battered looking and had obviously wouldn't live beyond a few days but she looked tired.  
Clint walked over.  
“Hey!”  
“Hello Sir, you buy last bouquet?”  
“You know? My girlfriend loves these kinds of flowers. I'll take it!”  
The woman beamed and handed them over.  
“For you sir, Eight dollars!”  
He handed her ten and waved away the offer of change.  
“See you tomorrow!” she called after him as he headed towards the stop.  
Sitting on the subway train, gazing into the wilting flowers that were just as beautiful even now as they faded he wondered how he was going to get through the next few days. Or weeks. Or Months.  
It hurt to imagine Natasha lying there, day after day, her baby growing inside her. Unable to feel its kicking, enjoy the scans, painting the nursery, shopping for clothes, the baby showers.  
But he knew that if she could just hold on until it was born, there was a chance.  
A slim chance, but a chance she would be alright.  
It was a beacon of hope.  
The familiar walk to her room was lost in gazing at the flowers and hoping that their scent might permeate her coma but when she got there there were several doctors in her room.  
Clint made it across the foyer in a few long strides and pushed open the door.  
“...what are you doing to her?”  
One of the Doctors pulled away from the bed to face him.  
Natasha was still in bed. Her eyes closed. Her lips held together in a soft, dry lipped pout.  
There was no thick breathing tubes, no 'psst-haa' from the ventilator.  
“...she's breathing unaided, Mr. Barton.”   
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so so sorry its so short but I am so busy atm. Thanks for your continued and devoted support. I really do love hearing from you guys.


	15. Lucidity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint struggles with the Rut he has fallen into since Natasha's accident and finds inspiration from an unlikely source.

_Clint sat on the bed, stroking Natasha’s cheek as she lay as motionless as ever. But she was breathing alone._

_It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now._

_“We took her off oxygen a few hours ago and she’s been breathing unassisted since.” The Doctor said behind him. “It’s progress.”_

_He nodded._

_“…How’s the baby?”_

_“As far as we know. Just fine.” The Doctor replied._

_Clint’s heart was racing. Natasha was getting better._

_She could wake up from this. She could come back from this. She could recover completely. They could raise their child together._

_She was breathing alone now, all she had to do was wake up._

_“…can I have a moment…?” Clint asked, inclining his head slightly to the doctor who was stood behind him._

_“Or course.” The Doctor replied. “We’ll need to take her for a fresh set of scans—but that can wait.”_

_The Doctor left the room, closing the door behind him._

_Clint smiled at Natasha._

_“Look at you…breathin’ on your own.”_

_Natasha remained comatose._

_“…Look. I’ve been thinkin’…” He began, hooking his finger into one of her freer curls and stroking it with his thumb. “We can’t raise a kid at the tower.”_

_He stroked the curl over her ear again and took her hand._

_“Can you imagine raisin’ a kid in that chaos? Sure, Steve would be fine. He’s be a model Uncle. Tellin’ them how lucky they were they havin’ perks they have. I mean, Bruce would be cool too. Y’know…as long as the kid didn’t crap on him, pee on him, cry for too long. Pepper would be a dream…we could even have her as god mother-you know she’d be the best god mother ever. Thor would drop in from time…to…time…”_

_Clint wondered if Thor knew about Natasha. Had anyone been able to contact the Asgardian? Last he had heard, he’d visited Jane Foster in London, but he hadn’t heard any more._

_“…But Tony…” Clint continued, stroking the taut, angry skin around the canula in her hand._

_“Jeez. Tony’s a bad idea.” he sighed. “I think we’d do better to move out. Get our own place.” he continued. “You, me, the baby. Somewhere rural. Not too far from the city so we can still get to work—that’s if y’still wanted to.”_

_Natasha’s eyelashes remained firmly against her cheeks._

_“…’cause I was thinkin’…” he cleared his throat. “…uh, I was thinkin’ that if you wanted…you could retire? Or, if you don’t wanna, I could retire. Cos one of us needs to be there for the kid. And it’s not like we’re on payroll anymore. I could be a-uh…house husband? I could learn to cook, and clean. I could watch all those Martha Stewart shoes? Learn how to make skirting boards shine, and how to get lime scale off of taps and shit like that…”_

_He stroked her fingers._

_“…I could do all of this, Tasha. But baby, you gotta promise you’ll wake up. Because I really don’t wanna do it on my own. I can’t…”_

_He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it._

_“…You can’t leave me on my own to raise our kid. It’s just not fair to leave me with only half of you when I need all of you I can get.”_

_*_

_Clint never made it back to the tower that night. He went to Natasha’s place where Barney was staying._

_He knocked on the door before muttering._

_“It’s okay. ‘S me…”_

_Barney opened the door and nodded at his brother._

_“Was worried you were the Super’. Tellin’ me to keep the noise down.”_

_“Natasha had these walls sound proofed a week after she moved in.”_

_“Ah.”_

_Barney stood back and let Clint pass._

_“Ain’tcha at Starks place?”_

_“Not tonight. I needed somewhere quiet to be. That place has a bazillion floors and it can still feel like Stark is in your ear.”_

_“I get it.” Barney replied. “I ordered Pizza. Gonna be here in the next ten. You want in?”_

_“Sure.”_

_Clint collapsed down on the couch and lay his head back._

_“Beer?”_

_“No thanks. I gotta keep a clear head.”_

_“Y’head don’t look clear.”_

_Clint sighed._

_“She ain’t on the ventilator anymore.”_

_“That’s good though, right?”_

_“Yeah. It’s just hard seein’ her like that…so close, and still…”_

_“Y’can’t over think this.” Barney said, sitting down with a beer. “…ain’t nothin’ you can say to make her wake up any faster. Ain’t no magic words, no special incantation that’s gonna wake her up.”_

_Clint closed his eyes._

_Barney was right._

_“What am I meant to do, Barn’?” he asked. “…I feel like every time I catch someone’s eye they’re pityin’ me.”_

_“Because they are, dumbass.”_

_Clint raised his head with a look of mild shock._

_He hadn’t seen his brother for a few years, and he’d forgotten just how blunt Barney could be._

_“They’re pityin’ ya because you’re walkin’ around the place like a martyr.” He continued, sipping his beer. “You want them to stop lookin’ at’cha like that, you gotta stop actin’ like the worst is gonna happen. You’re pickin’ the flowers before the funeral.”_

_“Barney. I’m gonna punch you.”_

_“Please do, at least then I’d know you had some go still left in ya.”_

_Clint could have punched him straight in the face but he knew that he had a point._

_Maria and Pepper had both had to fix him up. Even Tony had stopped joking around._

_“Alright, fuckin’ Dr.Phil. What would you do? If the love of your life was lyin’ in a coma with your kid inside her?”_

_Barney leaned forwards, stalling for time, sipping his drink._

_“I’d fuckin’ act like she was comin’ home tomorrow.” he replied, swallowing. “I’d clean her room, I’d bring her fresh clothes every day. I’d paint a goddamn and write names down for her to read when she opened her eyes.”_

_Proactivity._

_It tasted unpalatable and seemed impossible._

_How could you be proactive when she was all but dead in that hospital bed, even breathing unaided._

_She was breathing unaided when she went in there, her brains being held in by a gauze pad._

_“…I love her Barney.”_

_“I know, Clint. That’s why it fuckin’ hurts. But it’s not gonna stop hurtin’, so you gotta put up with it, until the opportunity comes to fix it.”_

_Clint sat forwards, holding his head._

_“…she’s the one who fixes it…” he whispered. “She fixes it all.”_

_Barney looked over to his brother._

_“Time to learn, little brother. Ain’t nobody gonna wipe your ass but you.”_

_Clint scoffed mirthlessly and rubbed his temple._

_The door knocked._

_“Pizza!” came the muted call._

_“…Now, you want in on this Pepperoni?”_

_“…I lost my appetite.” Clint huffed. “I’m gonna go take a nap.”_

_“Suit y’self.”_

_Clint hoisted himself up and headed towards Natasha’s bedroom. He flicked on the bedside light and sat heavily on Natasha’s immaculate sheets that were starting to get the cold, dampness to them that unattended cloth gets._

_He tugged off his half done up boots, and put them besides her bedside table and lay back. His eyes aching and his head sore._

_He stared at the shadow of the ceiling shade from the lamp, and how it looked so much bigger in the half-light._

_He began to drift off to sleep as he heard the opening theme to Dog-cops playing in the lounge._

_*_

_Natasha’s hair was a glorious mane that moved effortlessly behind her as she rode him._

_Her hands were planted on his chest, her nails scratching at his lower abdomen as she gyrated and rocked on him, making his head spin with ecstasy and other parts throb with pleasure._

_His hands moved from her hips, up to her waist, caressing and supporting her as she arched her back for him._

_He wasn’t gonna last much longer._

_He dropped his hand to her ass and squeezed, feeling her tighten around him and it was all over in a haze of release._

_She was laughing, breathlessly, still clamping him between her thighs and he was enraptured by her._

_She was everything good in his life, wrapped up in this gorgeous woman who he loved dearly._

_She carefully pulled off and lay on her side and he didn’t hesitate to curl up against her, pressing against her back and kissing her shoulders and neck. Drunk on the residual feelings of sexual bliss._

_His hand strolled over the curve of Natasha’s waist and her soft, honeyed laugh rewarded his careful attentions._

_“I love you Tasha…”_

_“Hmm.” she mumbled back as he buried his nose into her hair. “I love you too.”_

_“…Nat, this isn’t real is it…”_

_She looked back at him as he drew away to lay on his back, her smile changed into a saddened pout._

_“No baby, it isn’t.” she sighed, crawling over to lean on his chest and stroke the fine hair on it._

_“…You’re in that coma, right?”_

_She nodded, stroking his chin with her thumb._

_“…This makes me a pervert…”_

_“No.” she smiled sadly. “It makes you human.”_

_He sat up, stroking her hair and holding her again._

_“…I miss you.”_

_“I know.” she nodded._

_“Barney thinks I should carry on. Bein’ all proactive.”_

_“Do we need to talk about your brother right now?” she teased. Even in a dream state, even made up by his own diseased mind, she was a tease._

_“…Tasha.”_

_“You need to carry on, Clint. The world won’t stop because I’m out of action.”_

_She leaned in and kissed him._

_“The world never finds out. The world never stops. That’s our job. That’s why it’s still going. Because I did my job.”_

_“…at what cost…”_

_Natasha embraced him, pressing her warm breasts against his chest and nuzzling him with a scent that was all of her own._

_“If your life ends with mine, then the cost is greater than I estimated. I fucked up.”_

_Clint inclined his head, realizing that Natasha was probably the 55% he didn’t really listen to when she spoke, and 45% himself._

_“You’re afraid I’ll die.” she continued. “Yet you’re already mourning. That’s no way to live.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Coulson wants you in therapy.” Natasha continued. “And the others need your help. And at the end of every day, I will still be there.”_

_He reached up and stroked her chin._

_“…I guess this dream will need to come up in therapy.”_

_She smiled back at him. A smile that she reserved just for him._

_“Oh yeah…”_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the 'all over the place' this fic is but its hard to keep a story paced in the present when a lot of what happened in the past relates to what will happen in the future...
> 
> That sounded a lot smarter in my head.


	16. Disclosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's first session with his therapist doesn't go to plan...

_Clint sat awkwardly in the leather armchair of the neutral grey waiting room. A pretentious grey and white abstract hung on the wall, dominating a basic room that had a leather couch and a few leather chairs._

_A single dark glass coffee table that tied the room together bore a collection of self-diagnosing psychology magazines and a black bowl with two off white balls._

_Clint sighed and looked towards the window where the blinds were half dimmed._

_It was his first session in Psych since New York and he hated it already._

_The receptionist had a way of speaking that made it seem practised and hollow and as he sat there in his leather jacket, shirt and borrowed tie he felt like he, nor his jeans belonged there._

_What was there to say that he hadn’t already poured out to Barney six or seven times over the last week and again on the phone once he’d returned back to his own state._

_Or that Pepper hadn’t nodded to again and again with equal patience. Or Bruce with his awkward sideways glances as he worked on his whiteboard. Or Tony’s grunts of agreement as he tinkered with his mechanics._

_Maybe someone who was further away from the group may help._

_A professional within SHIELD._

_Clint had called someone called Koenig and asked to speak to Phil and after some impertinent questioning on what it was like to work with Thor, he patched him through._

_Clint flooded Phil with questions on this shrink._

_If he was really SHIELD-safe or just a HYDRA plant, how much he could do for him that he hadn’t already been through, at one point he asked to see his old shrink who after 12 hard weeks of fruitless sessions had finally got him to admit to being brainwashed by Loki instead of blaming himself._

_Coulson admitted sadly that his previous shrink, Doctor Ledbetter had been executed by a HYDRA agent early on in the fall of SHIELD._

_Clint said his thanks, and put the phone down._

_He’d taken to sleeping in Natasha’s apartment since Barney had gone home and enjoyed being in her sheets, sniffing her pillowcases as a relief from when he wasn’t at her bedside._

_He had a week left to enjoy that apartment before it went onto the market again for rent._

_He half wanted to carry on renting the place just so he could pretend she was on a mission in another country, and that when he was at her bedside in the hospital, pretending she was sleeping._

_“Clinton Barton?”_

_Clint lifted is head and saw the doctor._

_He was a tall, balding man in tweed and a turtle neck._

_Not at all a stereotype._

_Clint stood up and walked over nodding._

_“Come on in, Clinton.”_

_“Clint.” Clint croaked, his voice hoarse from not speaking for a few hours._

_“Come in.”_

_He walked in and looked around. A couch, a chair, a beanbag. He knew that some therapists noted which one their patients took and made a note on it on their records. Clint wondered what they’d do if they chose to stand._

_“Take a seat, Clint.” the man said gesturing to the chair._

_Clint sat down, he’d been given direction. No need to book the lobotomy just yet._

_“Clint. I’m Doctor Matlock. I’ve been advised by your superiors that you required some counselling following an incident in the field.”_

_Clint nodded._

_“Yup.” he confirmed._

_The shrink sat down in his chair and took his clipboard and pen before turning to Clint._

_“I’d like for you to tell me, in as much detail as you feel comfortable sharing, what happened in the field…”_

_Of course, Clint knew that telling the shrink everything was out of the question. Telling him restricted secrets was a huge breach. Fortunately, he used the cab ride over here to arrange a safe story._

_“My partner and girlfriend was shot in the head and now she’s in a coma.”_

_The shrink nodded, noting it down._

_“Go on…”_

_“That’s it.” Clint replied._

_“As you know, I am not privy to personal information on the structure of SHIELD, so I am to assume your girlfriend was also a SHIELD agent, Mr. Barton.”_

_“Clint.”_

_“…sorry?”_

_“Call me Clint. My dad was Mr. Bart—actually, never mind…”_

_As the shrink wrote what looked like the sequel to ‘War and Peace’ on his clipboard, Clint was regretting every thing he had already said._

_“Let’s start with her name.”_

_“Natasha.”_

_“And have you been with Natasha for long?”_

_“Six months.”_

_“And were you enjoying your relationship.”_

_Clint nodded after a moments careful considered thought._

_“I see, and I assume you were on a mission of some kind?” he asked._

_He nodded then shook his head._

_“She was a civilian at the time.”_

_The shrink nodded._

_“And she was unprepared?”_

_Clint closed his eyes and immediately the image of her on the ground in Fury’s arms flashed in his minds eye._

_“…she was prepared.”_

_“Was she protecting someone?”_

_He nodded._

_“How do you feel about that?”_

_Clint hated that phrase._

_Doctor Ledbetter had asked him how he felt when he found out he was responsible for the death of his handler and Clint had to stop himself from throwing the therapists fancy glass paperweight through his 12th floor window._

_He coughed, cleared his throat and looked at the therapist._

_“I wasn’t happy about it…”_

_Bravo, Clint._

_The shrink leaned forwards._

_“You’re feeling reservations and of course, in these early days things can be a little raw to talk about—-we can go as slowly as you want.”_

_Clint looked at the shrink._

_Slowly._

_This was going to take months._

_“You want me to tell you what happened? I can tell you Doc.” he began. “A bad guy shot my girlfriend while she was visitin’ a friends grave. She was protectin’ another friend, and she has a massive brain trauma. Turns out she’s pregnant, she knew she was pregnant, yet still took the bullet. She’s now in a coma and I’m tryin’ to come to terms with the fact that any day now I can either become a father, or lose the only woman I have ever truly, heart and soul, loved. Got any pills for that? Any inspirin’ words I can paint above my door when I leave in the mornin’ so I can remember them when im starin’ at her blank face? Watch her belly grow with a baby she doesn’t feel rollin’ around inside her.”_

_The shrink sat still, perched on the edge of his leather chair. The look on his face reminded Clint of the hour glass symbol his cursor did when he clicked too many times on solitaire._

_Clint stood up, rubbed the back of his neck and nodded._

_“…I’m feelin’ better, Doc. Thanks. Same time next week, maybe next week we can talk about my pop. I know you wrote that down…”_

_*_

_Clint knew that Coulson wouldn’t be happy with that. Especially as he had skipped out less than fifteen minutes in and had probably set up an awkward shrink-patient relationship but the second he had headed out of there, he had Natasha on his mind._

_How could he tell anyone anything when his tongue was wrapped up in SHIELD’s restrictions and pass codes?_

_Would a therapist really understand when what he was saying was so simple yet extremely complicated._

_How much could you really see through the filter of lies he was taught to pull down every time someone tried to get inside his head._

_Clint repressed a shudder._

_Loki._

_What would Loki do with this torture?_

_Clint didn’t think much on what that alien bastard did in his brain. His fate was better than that poor scientist Selvig who had been captured on film by the national enquirer running naked around Stonehenge._

_But sometimes, when he was alone, he would hear that man’s hissing promises, the sound of a smirk in his voice._

_Clint would dash his hearing aids on the counter and go to bed._

_Ledbetter had made it so simple._

_Loki’s ‘enchantment’ had been a form of mind control that simultaneously ceased the desire to think for ones self, but at the same time made whatever Loki wanted a higher priority. Clint, when he strained his head. Sometimes it felt like Fury had ordered him to do it. To get the Iridium, and to bring down the helicarrier._

_Yet he saw Loki. And he knew it was wrong…_

_It pained him to admit it, but the idea of someone else taking over his brain for a few days, in a sadistic way, sounded good._

_He spent a few hours with Natasha._

_Pepper had given him a bag of toiletries to take to her but when he looked through them he didn’t know what the hell one thing was from the other._

_What was toner? Wasn’t that the shit that put in Xerox machines?_

_What was exfoliation scrub? Why were you putting something that coarse on your skin?_

_Clint stuffed them into a drawer and hoped the nurses had an idea._

_She was still sleeping._

_He called it sleeping, it made it easier to think she may wake up any moment._

_Clint took her hand and laced his fingers between her cool ones._

_“…I went to therapy today, babe. It sucked.”_

_She remained in her repose._

_“I couldn’t say shit…well, I told him what happened, but I still couldn’t talk about it. Not properly.”_

_He leaned forwards, stroking her hair away from her face._

_“…you were the only one I could ever talk to. The only one who understood.”_

_He sat back in his chair and looked her over._

_They’d changed her into some unfamiliar pastel blue pyjamas. They did not suit her, but they suited her better than hospital scrubs. They looked like something Pepper would wear._

_“I love you…” he said softly into the emptiness of the room._

_It felt hopeless.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T-15 days from wedding day. I hope to get some more updates in before then!


	17. Confidante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint confides in someone other than his therapist

_  
Clint sat, running his hands over her back. Her flawless, beautiful back._

_It had never been this flawless. Always an abstract canvas._

_He was sat in a bed with Natasha, tending to her skin after a long, intense sex session when he was certain that not 6 hours ago she’d been lying in a coma._

_But he didn’t care this was a dream. He needed this like he needed air._

_“…guy looks like a turtle…”_

_Natasha laughed, looking back at him._

_“He may be a good therapist.”_

_“He couldn’t get a dog out of a car with a ball…” he scoffed, running his hands up her back, dragging them back down, easing the tension in her back._

_She moaned, closing her eyes to enjoy the sensation._

_“…you fuckin’ turn me on, Natasha.” he grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of her spine._

_She chuckled._

_“…I’d have never have known.”_

_“When did it happen, Nat?”_

_She turned to look at him._

_“What?”_

_“When did you get pregnant?” he asked, stroking her hair back._

_She lay on her back._

_“I don’t know…” she replied softly. “…when do you think it was?”_

_“Judgin’ by the dates? I’d say it was that incredible night before I was dispatched to Santiago.”_

_She smiled up at him._

_“Hmmmm…”_

_He moved over her, gently parting her legs to lay between them, moving to kiss her again and she wrapped her arms around him._

_“D’you remember that night?”_

_“Of course I do.” she murmured, stroking his hair._

_They had arranged to meet in a hotel in Washington, she had just got back from Ankara, and he was due to leave in 16 hours._

_She had checked in under the name Brooks before he got there and he had knocked on her door using their usual code._

_They had clashed together immediately, as she had stripped his jacket off. He had been taken surprise by the force of her urge to get him naked but didn’t waste any more time and had began to pull at her top._

_They were naked within seconds and he had gotten her on the edge of the bed, his lips on her neck and his fingers teasing the wet folds of her._

_It was artless, it was crude and raw but it was what they both needed. They had been apart for a month and needed each others bodies so badly._

_Clint had barely got to taste her before she climaxed, a loud, unabashed groan escaping her blood red lips and she had taken only moments to recover before pushing him on his back and pushing down on his erection._

_She had ridden him hard, and desperately, bearing down on him and tensing around him until he felt he was going to go insane unless he cried out for her._

_They had fell apart, dazed and half-satisfied after he had blew his load inside her hot depths and she had smiled up at the ceiling asking him for round two not five minutes later._

_They had made love the second time._

_Not fucked, relentlessly on the floor, but actually made love. He had tended to her body, reading her movements, conducted by her gasps and the movement of her body as he worked her towards a slower, more intense climax._

_Watching it show on her face, her blushed cheeks, her rosy lips was the most erotic thing and made him ache for her warmth._

_He had kissed her, and drank her in as he filled her depths a second time, working his hips in a steady rhythm. She had wrapped her legs around him and held him tight in a hold that he felt privileged to be in._

_He held on as long as any self-respecting man could with the body of Natasha Romanoff sprawled beneath him, moaning and arching for him and spent himself inside her._

_The rest of the night was spent all kisses and whispers before culminating in a final tryst that left them both breathless and wondering how they’d lasted without one another._

_He had dressed in his civilian clothes, picked up his kit and left her with a lingering kiss before tearing himself away._

_No wonder it had happened._

_She brought him back to himself with a stroke along his jawline._

_“…you still in there?”_

_He smiled and nodded, running his hand down her body again, lingering over her stomach._

_“What do you think it’ll be?”_

_“I don’t know.” she smiled, stroking his hair. “…what do you want?”_

_“Awh…” he began. He had considered it._

_He had considered what he wanted. First as a young man who had entertained the idea one day he may have a child. But when he had got together with Natasha, he had put the idea away. He knew she was infertile and it seemed cruel to cling to the idea of kids when she was unable._

_It was a sacrifice he had happily made to be with the woman he loved._

_“…I want a girl.” he smiled, running his thumb over her stomach. “I want a little girl I can spoil rotten and protect. I want to take her campin’ and all that shit.”_

_She chuckled._

_“Have you told your shrink?”_

_“What?” he asked, looking up at her._

_“That you’re planning your life with me…?”_

_“I don’t—-”_

_“I’m not real Clint….” she said softly, stroking his cheek. “…I’m lying in a bed. In a coma.”_

_Clint did not feel shame at this, nor did he extricate himself from her embrace._

_“…you’re the only one I could ever talk to Nat. The only one I could pour my heart out to. Don’t take that away from me.”_

_She ran her hand through his hair._

_“Never.” she promised._

_He rested his head on her stomach and closed his eyes._

_“…I can’t even touch you, Nat. Sure, I stroke your hair. I kiss your forehead but I can’t bring myself to do anythin’ else. I wanna run my hands over your stomach and feel the baby growin’ inside you. I want to kiss you lips and hold you. I wanna pick you up and cradle you in my arms just so you feel someone is there but I can’t do it._

_She sunk her fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp and his eyelids fluttered shut. She knew exactly what to do to relax him._

_“You know that I might be able to feel your hands on mine? Or your hands on my skin. In my hair. And the baby, when it’s bigger will too…?”_

_He looked up at her sleepily._

_“It just feels wrong. Feels…unconsentin’.”_

_She stroked his hair, letting the tufts bow under her hand and then spring back up._

_“…I’m carrying your baby. I was moving in with you. I love you, Clint. Just hold me. Wrap your arms around me. Learn the guitar and sing to me—if you want me to come back to you—you have to throw me a rope.”_

_He raised his head._

_“…guitar?”_

_She gave a soft chuckle._

_He bent his head and kissed her stomach, just below her navel._

_“I could learn Guitar for you Nat…” he mumbled, lowering his kisses._

_Her breath caught in her throat the way he loved and he grinned, lowering his kisses even more._

_*_

_“Clint!”_

_Clint looked up from the magazine he’d been holding._

_Pepper was staring at him. All blue eyes and scorn._

_“…wha?”_

_“You haven’t been moisturising her face!”_

_Clint’s mouth dropped open as he wondered what he hadn’t been doing._

_“Her skin is as dry as paper.” Pepper tutted as she leaned over, brushing the back of her hand against her cheek. “The air con in here is going to dry her skin out and as she’s not drinking it’s going to play havoc…”_

_“Pepper. I don’t even know what Natasha does for her skin. I wake up, she looks great, I go to sleep, she looks great..”_

_Pepper had pulled a tube from the drawer from the cabinet beside her bed and was squeezing a thick glob of white cream into her fingers. She worked it into her hands and then gently started to massage it onto her temples._

_“Her skin will dry out, and age faster if you don’t do this. It’ll become sore, and itchy. You need to do this every day to her face, neck, and use the hand cream I got for you on her hands. She needs you to take care of her. You need to take the chapstick I got for her lips because they will dry up really bad. And I got this bio-oil for her stomach when she starts to show?”_

_Clint nodded._

_“You need to be careful…” she continued, drying off her hands on a paper towel. “When she wakes up, she’s gonna be angry you didn’t take care of her skin.”_

_“Pep?”_

_“Yeah?_

_“…I keep dreamin’ of her.”_

_Pepper gave him a sympathetic smile._

_“It would surprise me if you didn’t, Clint.”_

_“I keep havin’ very…specific dreams, Pepper.”_

_The tone must have set Pepper’s internal alarms off because she inclined her head and her eyes diverted._

_“…ummm. Okay.”_

_“…I’ll ask my therapist.” he sighed, sitting back.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet chapter


	18. This too shall pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has their own way of dealing with trauma. But Clint has his own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me.
> 
> Two months ago, I was diagnosed with severe depression again and I have been fighting it every day.  
> This has been weighing on my mind and though it would be easy for me to throw the towel in and think, screw it, leave it to die. I am a persistent bugger who loves to fight with my depression and it's not going to win.
> 
> Not today anyway.
> 
> So here is the next installment.

The staff in the intensive care ward had grown used to the sounds of the strumming guitar from the long term patients room. And the sound of her frequent visitor singing.

It didn't disturb the other patients, and the other visitors never complained.

He had progressed from slow, stuttering to getting better, to being able to play music all the way through a simple song.

Then he began to sing for her.

They began to ask questions to the man who no longer seemed to be in mourning for the woman in the bed, but in preparation for her awakening. The emergence from her coma.

He arrived by 9am every morning, always with a bunch of flowers and followed the same routine every day. He'd wash her face with a wet cloth, he'd use toner on it, moisturiser, day cream. He'd wash her hands and moisturise them too. Then he'd draw her pajama top up and rub cream into her stomach.

He spent the rest of the time holding her hands, talking to her and sometimes laughing about things. Reading to her from magazines, playing music on his cellphone, recanting stories, and later on, playing the guitar.

It was disheartening for him and them both when she did not react.

Yet here he was, again, still trying.

He was singing his latest accomplishment.

Highway to Hell.

With unlimited time on his hands since he was given extended compassionate leave by Coulson, it became very easy to practice his skills. But he had to start somewhere.

 

*

 

“ _Tony...”_

_Stark looked up, a screwdriver in his mouth as he fitted a component to his latest suit's chest plate._

“ _Hmm?”_

“ _You play guitar, right?”_

_Tony thought for a moment, before pulling the screwdriver out of his mouth and looked at him._

“ _You've seen the 'nursery' right?”_

_Tony called the room he stored his classic guitars in 'The nursery' because its where ' his babies' lived._

_Clint nodded._

“ _...Can you teach me?”_

_Tony scoffed, soldering a component to a circuit board._

“ _Why do you wanna learn? You gonna serenade Hydra?”_

“ _Because I want to play for Natasha.”_

_Tony's entire posture changed._

“ _Oh...Right, yeah. I get you. I heard music can help. Uh...sure. I can teach you...Its mostly classic rock that I play but when on an acoustic, it can sound romantic. That said, I'm not exactly Slash.”_

 

 

*

Clint put the guitar down in its permanent resting spot near the potted Calla Lily plant that Pepper had brought a few weeks ago and sat forwards in his chair, running his more coarse finger tips over the back of her hand.

“...Nursery is nearly done babe.” he said. “Pepper's havin' the linen delivered today, and...” he began somewhat with trepidation, stroking her hand between his.

“...we went with peach. Because...Peach is a nice colour for girls. Pepper wanted me to go with traditional pink. I said no. Pink is overdone to hell and peach is a nice colour. Besides, she's bought like half a million different kinds of linen. Like that kid is gonna sleep in a new set of sheets every day for the rest of its infancy.”

Natasha continued to breathe slowly, her eyelids laying still.

“...I love you. Natasha...” he said quietly, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it softly. “...I love you, and I love this baby...and I can't wait for you to wake up. I promise you. I swear to you. We will be happy. No matter what it takes. I will make it happen.”

The silence that followed was not any less dire.

But he was building a resilience to its cruelty even if it wasn't intentional.

 

*

 

_Her Doctor unwound the bandage slowly on Natasha's head, while a second one supported it between her hands._

_Clint watched carefully as they prepared to assess the state of Natasha's healing head injury site._

_He had seen it in its gnarled, stitched, bloody and swollen stage. He had seen it as it began to recede and they cleaned it thoroughly._

_And now he saw it almost healed._

_The semblance of curls starting to unfurl beneath the constant white gauze had prompted them to consider taking it off permanently._

_The Doctor nodded to her colleague._

“ _I think we can leave this off permanently.” she said. “...i'm sure she'll find it more comfortable.”_

_Clint smiled as the nurse gently laid her head back down again. He had missed her hair a great deal._

_Natasha was now six months pregnant and had been in a coma for three months. Her stomach was starting to show noticeably so when new nurses who had been assigned to caring for Natasha saw her, they stared._

_They had been informed of the circumstances. The very unusual case of the pregnant woman in a coma who had been shot in the head._

_But they soon adapted to caring for her. The specific things that he asked them to be sure of._

_Putting socks on her feet, cleaning under her fingernails, leaving her hair untucked from behind her ears._

_The Doctor checked Natasha's output and then looked to the nurse._

“ _Keep her monitored. And then give refresh her face and hair. Ensure you get behind her ears.”_

_The nurse nodded._

_Clint leaned forwards to check the nurse._

_She was new...._

“ _Y'want me to do it?” he offered to her as soon as the Doctor had left._

_She shook her head._

“ _I gotta learn...” she smiled awkwardly._

_Clint nodded._

_The nurse filled a bowl with warm soapy water and set a wash cloth next to it before soaking it in the water and gently rubbing it against her face._

_Clint looked away. He found it undignified to watch Natasha toyed with like a docile thing. He tried to be gentle with her when he moisturized her face, but he guessed that they needed to be a little more aggressive to get her clean._

“ _...she your girl?”_

_Clint looked up._

“ _Sorry?”_

“ _...Natasha? Is she your girl?”_

_Clint nodded._

“ _...she's my girlfriend.”_

_The nurse nodded, washing along her jawline._

“ _...She's pretty. Is she a model?”_

_Clint felt a smile grow on reluctant cheeks._

“ _Not quite. We work together.”_

_The nurse nodded, running the cloth over her brow._

“ _...So how long you been together?”_

“ _A while.”_

“ _Do you know what the gender is?”_

“ _Of the baby? Nope. We're booked in with the sonographer later to see what it is.”_

_The nurse looked at Natasha's face, her impassive face, her lapse body and Clint could tell what she was thinking._

_How was this not helpless?_

_How was anything good going to come out of this?_

_The nurse carried on in her duties as Clint got up, cracking the odd joint here and there before heading towards the window._

_So much had changed since she had been admitted. Natasha's apartment had gone back up for rent._

_And Pepper had moved all of her things to their floor. At first they remained in boxes until Pepper had become restless one night and Clint had found her in the living area of his floor in the middle of the night unpacking Natasha's holiday souvenirs._

_He didn't question it, but merely nodded and headed back to bed._

_Clint asked Tony about it the next morning and he shrugged and said that everyone dealt with things in their own way and Pepper's way was making order of things._

_Clint knew that._

_Steve had his own way of dealing with his missing sparring partner and team mate._

_He'd visit every other day, with a bunch of flowers and his Ipod and would set up the docking station while sketching._

_He'd never show Clint what he was sketching exactly but whatever he was sketching, it brought him peace for the few hours he gave Clint free to rest or to visit the shrink._

_Bruce on the other hand barely came out of his quarters, or out of Tony''s lab and when he did, he would mutter a greeting or a farewell before scuttling back into the elevator._

_It was with kindness that Clint imagined him like a cockroach, but he had to admit, the behaviour was similar._

_Clint had a mild ache in his chest whenever he thought about his and Banner's last conversation that ended so abruptly with discussion of his and Natasha's relationship. Then again, it could also have been the fact that he stopped coming to see Natasha now. Always citing that he didn't want to step on the Doctor's toes._

_He would always receive data from her, scans, tests by email and would return his advice through Tony. Never personally._

_The bright sunshine of the day suddenly clouded over and Clint had to blink twice as the sky grew dark before his eyes and overhead a sudden and mighty crack of thunder._

_Clint drew back from the window and realized what was going on._

_He turned around to the nurse who was staring at the window in shock._

“ _...Hey, uh, do you wanna go get me something for Natasha's dry skin? She's developed this spot on her left knee, some of that white stuff in the blue bottle usually does the trick, i'll finish up here...” he urged, starting towards the bed._

_The nurse nodded uncertainly before heading for the door, the flannel still in her hand._

_Clint dried the part of Natasha that the nurse had been washing before tucking her back into bed._

“ _...looks like Thor got Tony's message, babe.”_

_A few moments later, and with general uproar in the corridor outside from the hospital staff, Clint knew that the Asgardian was on his way._

“ _I must see Natasha Romanoff.” bellowed Thor._

“ _...Sir, she has a visitor.”_

“ _Good! I wish to see Clint Barton also!”_

_Clint managed to smile softly as the door creaked open and Thor stood there, in a not very subtle grey hooded jacket over full Asgardian armor._

“ _...Barton.” he began, walking in as the receptionist merely gave up and walked away._

_Clint went to shake his hand as Thor shook his hand in a vice like grip, depositing Mjonhir on a nearby chair and looked to Natasha._

“ _...Stark was not jesting.” he said, blanching a little._

“ _No. No buddy, he wasn't.”_

_Thor sighed._

“ _...I apologize for not having responded sooner. Even with the vast communications here on Midgard, it is sometimes possible to be impossible to make contact with. Though I fear that I may not have been of much use.”_

_Clint shook his head._

“ _You're here now, that's all that matters.”_

_Thor walked to the bed and sat, looking closely at Natasha._

“ _And she has not yet woken?”_

_Clint shook his head, walking forwards urgently, wanting to tell Thor to be careful around her stomach.”_

“ _It's been three months.”_

“ _Then she is not far along...” Thor rested his hand on her stomach, cupping the small bump. “...how is it that the child lives?”_

“ _I wish I could tell you.”_

“ _Your partner is a fearful warrior, and strong. She puts me in mind of Jane. You must fret for her.”_

_Clint nodded. Forgetting how articulate Thor could be sometimes._

“ _...come, you must have much to say...” he gestured to the chair._

“ _...I've talked a lot.” Clint smiled awkwardly._

“ _I once nearly lost Jane to something not unlike the Tesseract. I am sure there are things that you can say to me that perhaps you cannot relay to others. Stark informs me that she was shot protecting the Director.”_

_Clint still felt revulsion at that._

“ _...She did.”_

_Thor looked to Natasha again._

“ _It seems a miracle she lives at all.”_

“ _...do you guys have miracles?” Clint asked, sitting down besides her. “Up on Asgard?”_

_Thor looked to Clint._

“ _...If there were a miracle in my father's room of prizes, I would bring it for her.”_

_Clint felt his heart throb a little in pain and his eyes glazed over. For the first time in weeks._

_Thor's gentleness and sincerity had touched him so deeply._

“ _...is the baby healthy?”_

_Clint nodded._

“ _Natasha is goin' for a scan this afternoon. We're gonna to find out if it's a girl or a boy.”_

_Thor smiled._

“ _If it is a boy it will be strong and wise like his father, and if she is a girl, then she will be fierce and determined like her mother.”_

_Clint gave a low chuckle._

“ _Jeez, for a guy who arrives with thunder, you sure are like a ray of sunshine.”_

_Thor smiled appreciatively, taking Natasha's hand._

“ _There is an Asgardian proverb, I paraphrase, my mother used it frequently yet I cannot recall its exact wording, but it was something like: In joy, and in sorrow, it shall always pass...”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	19. Fear and Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint discovers the gender of his baby, but when an old adversary brings old fear back, he turns to an unlikely source of help.

_ **Chapter 19** _

 

 

 

_Clint smiled at Natasha, stroking her stomach through the thin cotton blanket._

“ _...It's a girl.” he smiled, gazing at the scan. “...healthy baby girl.”_

_The scan that Natasha had had done that afternoon revealed that their baby was a girl, and that she was bobbing around in Natasha's womb healthily._

_The Sonographer had remarked how active the baby was and that Natasha could probably feel the baby moving if she was capable of feeling the baby move._

_Now he was sat in her room with her again, massaging the bump that had formed on Natasha's frail frame, willing their daughter to move so that he could feel it._

“ _...You should have seen her Nat. She was wigglin' around, hiccupin'. She's perfect baby. She has these cute little arms, and legs, she was holdin' her cord, she's perfect baby. You're doin' so well.”_

_He stroked Natasha's red hair, curling the strands around his fingers._

“ _We need to think about names. We need to think about good names for her. I'm gonna get a book on it. There's a book shop on the way to the hospital. I'll pick one up tomorrow, bring it in, we'll go through some names.”_

_They'd asked him to consider a birth-plan for Natasha and said that if her current medical condition persisted that a natural birth would be out of the question and that even if she did wake, it would be unlikely that she would be able to have a natural birth._

_Clint knew exactly what they meant._

_They were worried when she woke she would have brain damage. He wasn't a fool._

_He took their advice, their leaflets, the diagnosis and decided that he would sit down tonight and check through. He may even ask Pepper for advice. If she was still in the country._

_He didn't like the idea of them slicing up Natasha to get their baby out, but knew that she would want what was best for the baby._

_Still, it was three months away, and that was three months for a lot to change._

_He leaned forwards and kissed Natasha's lips._

“ _You've made me a happy man, Natasha. Know that I love you, okay? This changes nothin'. Nothin' at all. You're the love of my life, you have been since the first moment you kissed me. Nothin' will change that.”_

_She remained impassive. Her eyelashes resting on her cheek, her lips parted sleepily as soft breaths passed over them._

_Clint rested forwards, his arms on her bed, and his chin resting on them as he gazed at her stomach. Focused on the new life within it._

“ _...all you need to do is wake up. We can have a family, a life together. We could do anythin' you wanted. We could stay in the city. Or we could move to the country. I grew up in this little place called Waverley, in Ohio. And it was nice enough. Quiet. Would be a great place to bring her up. Nobody would come lookin' for us there. No HYDRA, no weird Aliens who want to be the new Hitler. Just you, me and her. You could stay at home, work as a consultant for SHIELD, and I could...I dunno, I could do somethin' like farming? I guess I could do that. Don't mind gettin' my hands dirty._

_She could learn to ride her bike around the front yard. You could watch her from the porch. I could teach her to shoot. You know, when she's old enough. And you could yell at me for tryin' to teach her to shoot.”_

_He smiled sleepily, kissing her knuckles and rubbing her fingers against his cheek soothingly._

_Surrounded by the things he loved, he could pretend that it was half normal, after all, he would fall asleep listening to her breathing, just like it was before. Before all of this happened._

_Closing his eyes, he smiled as he drifted into a sleep._

 

_ * _

“ _...Barton...”_

_He opened his eyes sleepily and blinked a few times._

_ There was someone else in the room and they were sat on Natasha's bed. _

_ As he blinked away sleep-haze, he focused in. _

_ They were sat with Natasha's head cradled in their lap, they wore a doctors coat, but...it was wrong. _

_ Long black hair... _

_ Sharp features... _

_ And a smile that made Clint go cold in his gut. _

_ Clint's hand shot to his side for a gun but finding himself without one, he felt his heart miss a beat. _

_ Loki. _

“ _Well well...” the man hissed pleasantly. “Isn't this a surprise?”_

“ _...the fuck are you doin' here?” Clint snarled, starting up, his fists balled up ready for action._

_The bastard was stroking Natasha's cheek with the back of his long, cold fingers._

“ _...Get the fuck away from her!”_

_Loki tutted, shaking his head, finally looking at him._

“ _Really, you need to control that tongue in front of the lady.”_

“ _GET AWAY FROM HER!” He bellowed, throwing the table besides Natasha's bed across the room._

_Loki held out his hand to Clint and froze him to the spot. Exercising control over him once more, his green eyes flashing blue dangerously._

“ _Have you forgotten your place, my puppet?” he asked, a poisonous tone spreading through the statement. “...I may be gone from your realm, but I am certainly not absent from your nightmares.”_

_Clint felt his heart beat rapidly in his chest, his limbs frozen as the demi-god caressed Natasha's bump._

“ _Curious...” Loki continued. “I once promised you that I would have you kill her and then I would split your skull once you had seen what you had done yet in fact, you have done it for me...”_

_Loki smiled unpleasantly at Clint._

“ _...This wasn't me. I didn't do this.” Clint growled, not sounding entirely certain._

“ _You may not have shot the bullet, Barton. But you may as well have. My brother for all of his faults did not fail to protect the woman he loved. You may as well have pulled the trigger yourself.”_

_Clint felt sick._

“ _...You're not real.” He snapped._

“ _But your guilt is. I see it seeping through your chest like a toxin. After all, will you be able to look your daughter in the eye and inform her that you are the reason her mother is...well, like this? Neither use nor ornament?”_

_Clint let out a scream of fury and anger._

“ _...Shhh.” Loki insisted, flicking his fingers and sealing Clint's mouth. “...Rest assured. Though I pose no further threat to your dear sleeping wench, I will always be that part of you that will happily rip you to pieces when you know, deep, in your heart that you have failed...”_

_Loki looked to Clint before smiling at him and releasing his hold on him._

_He leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Natasha's brow._

_Natasha's eyes opened suddenly, a cold, bright blue._

 

_*_

 

_Clint woke up with a start, a panicked yell and looked around, his fists balled up ready to attack and found the room empty, the table where it had been when he fell asleep._

_His breathing was heavy and rapid as he checked over Natasha who hadn't moved an inch. He ran his hands over her stomach, checking the baby was alright and finding everything fine, he sat back._

_He had had nightmares about Loki before._

_He had relived the attack on the helicarrier, on the base. Witnessed fresh attacks. Been a puppet for him once more. He had even killed Natasha over and over._

_But this was different._

_This was, personal. It was like a nightmare, tailored for him, and just for him._

_Clint ran his hands over his face and gripped his hair at its roots to get a cleansing wave of pain to reset his jittery features._

_Clint got out his cell, straight away and dialled Stark._

_It rang twice before Tony picked up._

“ _Hello?”_

“ _Stark, is Thor still around?”_

“ _Yeah. He's with Steve. I think they're swapping war and valor stories.”_

“ _Tell him to hang there. I need to talk to him. I'm on my way home.”_

“ _Sure, no worries. Oh, did you find out what it was?”_

“ _The baby?”_

“ _Yeah.”_

“ _Girl.”_

“ _I knew it. No worries bud. I'll tell him to hang around. And Congratulations on the...XX genes.”_

_Clint half smiled before hanging up._

 

_*_

_Thor was sat in the living area of Tony's place when Clint finally got home. He and Steve were swapping war stories. Thor had a way of downplaying his own stories and truly understanding the hell that Steve saw when he was fighting in World War 2._

“ _So we see this huge Nazi tank up ahead, and Dum-Dum wants to take it head on but Dernier just pulls out this switch and--”_

_Clint listened for a moment before Steve noticed he was there and glanced up._

“ _\--Hey Clint.”_

“ _Hey. Uh, sorry to interrupt.”_

_Thor turned around and looked to Clint, his smile slightly dropping noticing Clint's more solemn expression._

“ _Is everything well?”_

_Clint nodded, feeling slightly uneasy now that he had seen Thor again. The sound of Loki's voice still heavy in his head._

_Thor stood up._

“ _I feel you wish to have that discussion I suggested earlier?” Thor prompted from Clint's silence._

_Steve took the hint and got up._

“ _I'm gonna hit they hay early. It was good to catch up big guy.”_

_Thor nodded, patting Steve's back._

“ _We must do it more often. Please, give my regards to the Director if you see him.”_

_Steve nodded to Clint before leaving._

_Thor gestured to the seating area._

“ _You look grave.” he remarked. “I trust that the 'scan' went well?”_

_Clint nodded, sitting down._

“ _Baby's fine. Better than fine, really good.” he said quickly._

“ _...Then is Natasha well?”_

_He nodded again._

_Thor looked to Clint._

“ _...there was a reason you sought my counsel, friend.”_

“ _...Loki.”_

“ _Loki?” Thor asked, his features furrowing._

“ _Yeah. I had a dream about him.”_

“ _I suspect it was not so much a dream, more of a nightmare.” Thor replied, sitting back._

“ _Yeah. You said he was dead?” Clint asked._

“ _He died fighting Malekith in Svartalfheim.” Thor responded. “They brought his body back, it was given a funeral. I was in attendance.”_

“ _...So any chance of him, controllin' anyone is--”_

“ _I believe that when Natasha knocked you unconscious that his hold on you was relinquished for good.” Thor smiled, sitting forwards and taking a sip of his drink._

“ _It felt real, Thor.”_

_Thor took a deep breath and sat back._

“ _My brother, was gifted with controlling people whether he had external assistance or he simply urged them to do his bidding. I am not surprised that he left an impression on you so deeply.”_

“ _He controlled me again. Stopped me from movin'. Kept me quiet. And he had his goddamn hands on Natasha. On our baby.”_

“ _It is not Loki who controls you, friend.” Thor said finally._

_Clint looked to Thor._

“ _It is fear. It merely wears the face of my brother.”_

_Clint sat forwards._

_It certainly made sense. He hadn't quite come to terms with being controlled like that, and it wasn't exactly something his shrink had helped with._

“ _Have you ever been controlled, Thor? Like, against your will?”_

_Thor considered it for a moment and shook his head._

“ _...No. Not in the same way you and Doctor Selvig were.”_

_Clint felt his heart sink a little. He hoped that Thor being as old as he was and as well travelled as he was that he would know what it felt like._

“ _I was always my own person.” Clint continued, reaching for one of the beers that hadn't been cracked yet and opening it. “Always been able to stand on my own two feet and make my own decisions. Knew when to get back up, when to stand down, when to know when to give in. That guy just took away everythin'. All of it. All of that fire and fight I had and quenched it._

_It was like bein' in a glass box. I could see my hands movin'. I could feel myself doin' things, and I knew it was wrong, Thor. But I couldn't stop it. I tried. And the longer it went on for, the more I could feel it._

_He asked about Natasha. He asked everythin' about her. He asked things that he didn't even need to know. He asked about her life, her past, things she'd confessed. God, I didn't want to say a word and he just pulled it out of me.”_

_Thor listened, his blue eyes glazed with sincerity._

“ _...By the end, I was so tired. I just wanted to die.”_

_Thor put his hand on his shoulder._

“ _And yet you stood with us, with Natasha, and you put an end to it all.”_

“ _I killed so many people, Thor.”_

“ _And you saved many more.”_

“ _I could have saved her...”_

_Thor looked at him, considering him for a moment._

“ _Natasha does not need saving, Barton. She never needed a rescue. Some brave warrior in gleaming armour or some great brute to claim her back from some monster.”_

_Clint looked at him, this was no revelation._

_He knew that Natasha was never some damsel in distress, or someone to be protected. Natasha knew what she was about, she always had done. And when she fought with him, he never needed to back her up. He only had to have her back, and she had his._

_Clint sat forwards again._

_There was a somewhat heavy silence between them._

“ _...So, you're sayin' that fear is keepin' me under control...?”_

_Thor nodded, sipping his drink._

“ _You're afraid that she'll die. That your child within her will die, are you not?”_

_Hearing it out loud didn't make it any easier to comprehend._

“ _Fear controls you, friend.” Thor repeated. “...You should sleep. And I should be heading back to London.”_

“ _This time of night?”_

_Thor laughed._

“ _The Madmen have hours that the Sane men do not.” he said, patting Clint on the shoulder before heading to the elevator._

_Clint blinked._

_Thor gave some pretty sage advice sometimes. And then other times, he made as much sense as a bag of snakes._


	20. Reminder and Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Clint tries to reach through to Natasha, he finds someone else is hitting a little too close to home.

Chapter 20

 

 

Clint pushed another quarter into the coffee machine and leaned back to survey what they had today.

Chicken Soup. Vegetable Soup. Tomato Soup. Coffee. Espresso. Hot Chocolate.

“Clinton...” came a soft scolding voice from behind him.

He turned to see a familiar plump looking nurse with blonde hair.

“Molly.” he smiled.

“You know you only have to ask. I've told you before, you can have a coffee on the house. Just ask whoever is on reception.”

He smiled, pushing the button and making his selection.

“I just like the Mocha from here.” he nodded. “Better than Starbucks.”

The nurse smiled. “How long now?”

“Four weeks.” he smiled. “Four weeks and two days to be exact before her due date.”

Molly smiled.

“Settled on a name?”

“Not yet.” Clint admitted, retrieving his drink. “...A few in the runnin' for favourites. Of course, I'll need her approval.”

And there it was again.

The sad smile of someone who was humouring someone. It was like a Noh mask for anyone who came into contact with his optimism.

“Are we expecting any more visitors today?”

Clint shook his head.

“I don't think so. Not unless my brother flies in. See y'later.” he nodded taking a sip and heading back to the room.

He walked back in, closing the door as he did and set the plastic cup down besides her water jug that she had never once sipped from.

“...Y'know, I think Molly is tryin' to impress that new Doctor? She's had her hair dyed and she's wearin' lipstick.” he began to Natasha. “...I dunno though. He doesn't seem like the type who'd notice. Looks like the kinda guy who likes to play with toy planes and shit. Think she's got a better chance with that nice Orderly guy. Uh...what's his name? John...? Jake...The guy who always wears that cologne. Anyway...” he began, walking over to her and taking her hands, rubbing some warmth into them. “When I was usin' the bathroom, I overheard him talkin' to one of the Janitors and he said that he was goin' to ask her out. Don't think he did it.”

He put her hands back and pulled back the sheets on the bed, gently pulling up her night gown over her bump and rubbing some warmth into his own coarse hands before reaching for the bottle of honey colored oil at the side of the bed.

“...I dunno. Maybe she has more in common with Doctor. Airfix.” he shrugged, pouring some of the oil into his hands and rubbing it in before massaging it over her stomach lightly.

“...Pepper really is onto somethin' with this bio-oil stuff. It stinks. But you've barely got a mark on you, babe.” he nodded. “...It's even lessened this scar...”

He ran his thumb over the scar on her hip.

Natasha made a soft noise in her chest that sounded like air rolling over her vocal chords.

Clint looked up quickly.

“Nat? Natasha, can you hear me?”

He hurriedly dried his hands on his jeans by rubbing them up and down his thighs and quickly opened the cupboard to his left.

He removed a small shoe box and put it on the bed opening it up.

When Natasha's automatic movements had begun to increase over the last two or three months, the Doctors had suggested to Clint to try and reach her through the veil of unconsciousness with anything that she may remember.

Scents, audialmemories. Anything.

That night, Clint went home, got an old shoe box from Pepper and filled it with things from his and her possessions.

Anything that would jog her memory from wherever she was.

Clint's fingers scrambled in the box.

He found something.

The fridge magnet of the Szécheny Baths that they bought in Budapest with its sharp points.

He ran it over her fingertip.

“Remember? We flew back commercial to avoid detection, we were bein' tailed by that couple who were pretendin' to be newly-weds so we played them at their own game. You dragged me into the gift shop at the airport and made me buy this. I thought you'd thrown it in the trash, but then I saw it on your refrigerator?”

Natasha's face remained impassive.

Clint dropped it and reached for the next item. It was a handkerchief, crumpled and yellowing with age.

He passed it under her nose.

“In Florence, you were compromised. They took you before you had a chance to tip me off. I had no way of knowin' which way you had gone. You tied this to the wrist of a statue, and it smelled of your perfume and I found you. You were beaten to hell, but I found you. Smell...please...Tasha.”

Clint reached for the next item.

Cold, and once sharp but now dull. It was an arrowhead that bore just a very slight trace of aged blood.

“...I put this in your side, the first time I saw you. You fell, but you scrambled straight back up. I found you two days later with it still in your side. You were feverish, weak, yet you looked like you could'a cut my heart out with your eyes. I knew I couldn't kill you. I knew...”

He put the arrowhead down and ran his hands over her bump again.

“Nat...please Nat. Follow my voice. Follow me. I'm waitin' for you. I'm right here. You just have to come a little further.”

Under his hands, the baby shifted in Natasha's womb.

He leaned forwards, and kissed her oily stomach.

Just then, the door opened.

Clint looked up, quickly covering Natasha's exposed stomach.

It was Bruce.

“...Bruce?” Clint began. “...What are you doin' here?”

Bruce was stood there awkwardly, he was playing with his hands again. He always played with his god-damn hands when he was unsure.

“...I came to see you.”

Clint got to his feet again, wiping his hands on his jeans once more to rid himself of the last remnants of the bio oil.

“This about Natasha?”

Bruce nodded quickly, he looked as though he had swallowed a mouthful of hot coffee too quickly.

Clint steeled himself.

He knew that Bruce had been getting her reports, her tests, her scans.

“...Is it about the baby?”

Bruce sighed, looking to Natasha then to Clint.

“I think we should talk about what's best for Natasha.” he replied finally, still a little constrained.

Clint felt a slight relief, and sat besides her on the bed.

“...Go on.”

Bruce took a deep breath, averting his gaze to the view outside.

“...She's 36 weeks.” he began.

“35 and 5 days.” Clint corrected. “Roughly.”

“Have you spoken about her birth plan with the delivery team?”

Clint didn't quite get where this was going.

“She's havin' a C-section. If she doesn't go into labor naturally by week 38 they'll induce her.”

“I think you should induce now.”

Clint stifled a surprised chuckle.

“What? She's not even eight months gone. She's not ready. Baby ain't ready yet.”

“...It's what's best for Natasha.” Bruce said firmly.

Clint's brow furrowed.

What the hell was Banner doing?

“Natasha? You said that as long as she's pregnant, she's goin' to be fine. That her body is in a kind of...rest state. That the pregnancy protects them both.”

Bruce's jaw flexed a little.

“It's been five months. She's not improved.”

This had come from literally nowhere.

Bruce's sudden interest was a bolt from the blue. For weeks he hadn't inquired personally to Clint, and it had been months since he had stepped foot into this place.

What right had he to dictate Natasha's fate now? The fate of his girlfriend and their child together?!

“And she's not worsened, Bruce, the fuck has gotten into you? Who the fuck do you think you are? Comin' here, and tellin' me what's best for my girlfriend? For my baby?”

“You're treating her like an incubator!” Bruce snapped finally, looking back to Clint.

Clint's brow contorted with rage and confusion.

Where had this come from?

He got up angrily, face to face with the man, his face inches from the Doctors.

“I don't give a fuck what kind of switches I trip on you, Banner. You speak to me, about her, like that again, I'll beat the shit out of you.”

Banner was about to react when one of the monitors behind Clint began to sound.

Clint looked to it, the display flashing a rapidly dropping number.

He followed the lead to Natasha who had a slight sweat on her face now.

Bruce got to the bed first, pulling the sheet off of her to reveal a thick red stain spreading from between her legs.

“...NAT!”

 

 


	21. Strength and Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Natasha's life in the balance, Clint realizes that he had more than he realized to lose.

“You gotta let me go down with her, please, I need to be near her.”

The Doctor was rushing along side Natasha's bed as they moved her through the slim corridors of the hospital and Clint was winding his way around orderlies, wheelchairs, IV stands to stay at her side.

She was pale, sweating, and was being given oxygen by the nurse walking the other side of her. Clint's bloody hands were wrapped around hers.

“Mr. Barton, you need to move. Natasha needs an urgent C Section. She's suffering from a suspected Antepartem Haemorrhage.”

“What happened, why is she bleedin' out? Is the baby okay?” he asked.

“You need to stay behind. You can't come to theatre.” she replied.

“Theatre? But I want to be there for the birth-you said...”

“Mr. Barton. Every second we delay is a crucial. Stay here, stay behind, call someone to sit with you and I will send for you the moment there is news.”

Clint fell behind as the Doctor and her team disappeared with Natasha into the elevator.

Clint stood there as the world moved on around him and the bottom fell out of his world again.

He was back where he was five months ago, except now that the loss was greater.

He had rebuilt some semblance of life on the rubble of what had been left in the wake of the botched assassination and he was coping with it.

He didn't have Natasha back, but at least she was alive. And he had the promise of a family at the end of it.

Now it was falling down, slow motion, and he was trying to catch it all in the air.

That blood.

All of that blood.

That blood was surging from between her legs and it felt like the worst kind of horror film.

Something that you couldn't look away from.

Bruce had jammed the crash button with his fist urgently before taking Clint's hands manoeuvring them to her. Trying to apply pressure, the right kind of pressure, in the right place to try and stop it.

The blood just poured out as she crashed, her blood pressure dropping.

The crash team descended within seconds, moving him and Bruce out of the way as they tried to stem the bleeding and stabilize her enough to move her.

And then they rushed her to surgery.

And he was stood here. Bloody hands. Wondering if Natasha would be alive the next time he saw her.

His beautiful Natasha.

Suddenly, his sorrow turned to something more urgent. Something more wrathful.

Banner.

He turned on his heel, balling his bloody fists up and stormed down the corridor towards the room where Bruce stood outside talking to the nurses who were still present.

Clint felt like a bullet rushing towards its inevitable target and grabbed Banner by the collar, staining him with blood and throwing him against the wall.

“Fucker!”

Bruce grabbed Clint's wrists as the nurse started back.

“Get off me, Barton.” he began quietly, an unsteady note of warning in his voice.

“Turn Green and throw your tantrum, asshole. I don't give a fuck.”

Bruce's eyes flashed green.

“Barton!”

Clint turned around to the familiar voice.

It was Stark.

“...Let him down, Clint.” he started. “...you don't want this problem right now.”

“I'm calling security.” the nurse began.

Stark turned around as Barton let Banner slide down the wall.

“...Bruce, go breathe it out on the balcony.” Stark ordered softly.

Bruce pushed Clint out of the way, brushing past Tony, his head low and stiff.

“Sister, there's no need. They're just—well, look, let me deal with this. If they're still ready to smash each other to pieces in half an hour you can call in the army for all I care.”

The nurse sighed and put the phone down.

“...twenty minutes and I want that other man out of here...”

Stark smiled appreciatively to her before taking Clint aside, noticing his bloody hands, the false smile dropping quickly.

“...Whose blood is this?”

Clint's jaw was set, his eyes watery and hard. He couldn't get words out. They were stuck behind something solid and uncomfortable at the back of his throat.

Stark's brain worked quickly. Clint could see him mentally calling Pepper already as he realized it was Natasha's blood.

“...Okay. Okay.” he said, his eyes darting as he worked to figure out what to say, or what to do.

“...What happened?”

Clint was unwilling to speak. To admit.

“...Bleedin'.” he spat out. It tasted acrid. Like acid.

“...Alright. Okay.” Tony nodded. “Now...why were you beating on someone who makes 'The Mountain' look like a kindergärtner?”

Clint turned his head away, looking away from Tony.

“...Clint. Talk to me.”

Clint grit his teeth stubbornly and shook his head, willing the batteries in his hearing aids to die so he didn't have to talk.

He couldn't process it himself yet.

What HAD gotten into Banner for him to do this?

What had Banner realized, or done, or theorized to make him say that?

Why had Natasha started to bleed out a moment later.

None of it made sense.

Clint turned away, unable to be present in that situation any longer.

Stark sighed and looked to the nurses station, wondering how he was going to make this work.

“...I'm gonna ask to put you in that room we used to sit in when Natasha first came in. I'm calling Pepper, and I'm calling Steve. They're gonna come with with you, and they're gonna sort this out. I'm gonna go to Banner and calm him down so we don't have a Code Green on our hands, and figure out what the hell happened between you two. But you need, to keep it together.”

Clint stared at Tony.

Keep it together?

His lover, his comatose, pregnant lover was bleeding out, possibly losing their baby right now and he was stood here trying to figure out why, and why Bruce had come in attacking him.

He was losing everything.

EVERYTHING.

Clint averted his gaze, still unable to say a word. Mute.

Tony took Clint's jaw and set it so he was staring at him.

“...Listen to me. You need to be strong, Barton. I promise you, you're gonna make it out the other side. Just be strong for a while longer.”

Clint nodded slowly as Tony let go of him and looked to the nurses station.

A few moments later, he was being moved to the stale smelling relatives room that now had a slightly fresher scent that was all artificial.

Here he was again.

Same place. Same emotion. Same situation.

Natasha.

His beautiful Natasha was falling away from him again. And now their baby.

On some level, some subconscious level he had come to terms with never getting Natasha back. Seeing her every day in the hospital made him realize that this could be an eternal thing.

Five months of a lack of improvement wasn't entirely lost on him. He knew, from his basic internet research, things he had heard when the Doctors assumed he was sleeping beside her led him to realize that her recovery may be virtually impossible.

It softened the blow, even if he didn't entirely recognize it as a valid possibility, when he imagined that as he grew older, watching her sleep, he would have a baby girl, a toddler, a young child in his arms. Their daughter. Her gift to him. A portion of herself in the world. Even if she couldn't be there anymore.

And now both of them were in danger.

Clint ran his hand through his sweat soaked hair, leaving streaks of blood in it and hung his head.

Be strong...

Strong?

There was no strength without her.

She was his strength and he was hers, that's how they were. Symbiont.

He held her when she woke up, still panicking that she was in the Red Room. And when he woke with the fear of Loki gripping his heart she was there, her cool fingers at the base of his neck, stroking the fine hair and letting him know where he was.

When she was injured, they called for him, and when he needed strength, she was called for.

They were each others half. In work. In friendship, and finally as lovers.

How could he stand alone when his other half was gone. He was incomplete.

His life was falling apart.

He was falling apart.

He pulled the hearing aids out of his ears and dashed them onto the table, the silence around him was the only thing that was familiar now.

Closing his eyes.

His heart fell to where she was, being cut open. As they tried to save them both.

What if it came to a choice?

The baby, or Natasha.

No. No choice.

No, that didn't happen.

That only happened in period dramas, and hallmark TV movies.

He felt a breeze, the scent of disinfectant and knew that the door had opened.

It was Stark by the smell of the expensive, barely-there cologne.

He looked up and saw Stark sit in the arm chair opposite, he was talking, rubbing the sides of his face and mumbling.

Clint caught the odd word.

Banner. Emotion. Temper. Lost.

It was only when Clint didn't respond that his face rearranged quizzically and he noticed the hearing aids on the table. Purple plastic and still warm.

Tony sighed.

He reached across and put his hand on Clint's wrist before speaking clearly for him.

BANNER. TALKED. TO. ME. WHEN. THIS. IS. OVER. I. WILL. EXPLAIN.

Clint nodded once, noting he had understood before sitting forwards waiting.

Waiting for news about his family.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the filler. But I hope this is good.


	22. Life and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is in surgery after hemorrhaging and Clint can't just sit by and wait for news

Pepper walked in around 25 minutes after Clint had sat down in the relatives room. Tony sprang up like his knees were made of elastic as soon as he saw her and crossed to her.

Clint raised his eyebrows from where his brow sat heavy on his head and saw Tony speaking to her animatedly, gesturing, trying not to gesture to the morose deaf guy who was sat behind him.

He didn't care what he was saying. It was all irrelevant.

Unless someone who worked in the hospital came in with news, those hearing aids were staying in.

Pepper finished with Tony, handing him a holdall and sat in front of Clint.

She had come straight from the office by the looks of things, her smart two-piece suit, the heels.

She reached across and touched his wrist to get his attention.

Clint reluctantly looked up. His eyes tired with grief and exhaustion and saw her sigh deeply before beginning to sign.

Text book sign language. Perfect sign language.

' _Tony told me everything_.' she signed to him.

Clint half wondered where Pepper had picked up this, then realized she probably knew all kinds of languages.

Clint didn't feel like replying.

Pepper pressed on, tapping his wrist again when he had looked away.

' _Have the doctors been back_?”

Clint shook his head.

' _Do you want me to ask about Natasha?_ '

Clint shook his head.

Pepper nodded and looked back up to Tony before standing and walking to him.

Clint half wondered what was in the bag that she had given to Tony but instead rested his head against the chair wondering if they were delivering his child, or trying to save Natasha's life.

He had no idea what had happened.

She was fine, absolutely fine. He had had his hands on her stomach not moments before and she was fine. She was warm, and the baby was moving under his hands.

She had just started bleeding. Within minutes of that.

Was it labour? Was she losing the baby?

Could she lose the baby at nearly 36 weeks?

Would they need to deliver?

They could be delivering their baby right now, and he was sat here, wallowing in misery like some selfish asshole.

No.

He wasn't going to start that child's life being the same selfish bastard his father was.

Clint started up, pushed his hearing aids back into his ears and headed for the door.

“Clint?” Pepper began softly.

“I'm going to find her.”

“Clint, no.” came Tony's slightly too loud voice.

“If she's in labour, I need to be with her. She needs me there. I can't miss this. This is our fresh start.”

“Clint. I understand you want to be with her...” began Pepper. “But if they rushed her into surgery, there's nothing you can do but wait.”

Clint shook his head.

“No. I'm going to find her.”

He pushed past Tony who tried to grab him.

“Get off me!” he snapped and pushed him aside before running into the hall.

His eyes quickly scanned the blue plastic list of departments, finding 'Theater' and following the sign down to the stairs.

He ran down the sets of stairs, looking for the next sign, his heart beating rapidly.

He wasn't even sure if he was ready to face whatever he met up with when he was down there but he knew that he needed to be there to be a witness to it.

His stomach was churning and he was moments away from sobbing or throwing up but he was holding it down, drowning it until he was ready to let it out.

He found the double doors to the floor he needed to be on and ran out.

Looking left and right. It was deserted.

Sterile, clean, echoing.

Dimly lit and cold. Like the morgue he visited with his brother when they had to identify his parents.

She had to be down here. It's where they said they were taking her.

He ran a little way down one corridor, finding it cold and empty, before hearing a peal of sound from the opposite end. It was the sound of chaos, contained and suddenly let out.

A nurse in theater scrubs rushing out with blood stained gloves, heading to a sluice room.

“Nurse!”

She did not pause.

Clint ran towards the door she had ran out of and pushed open the theater doors as the air was pierced by a sudden, loud squeal.

A wriggling, small, blood-stained little bundle of pink limbs was hoisted out from behind some blood--stained blankets, squealing like its life depended on it.

“...we've got a girl.” the delivering surgeon announced, handing it to a nearby nurse who rushed it to a separate table.

Time slowed in sync with his painfully fast beating heart as his gaze was captured by the newborn baby who was being tended to in the corner of the room. Letting out indignant cries.

Hopelessly small, pathetic, and everything in the world.

A long, monotonous, urgent beep suddenly joined in the infant's screams.

“She's Asystole.” 

One of the surgeons moved to reveal the woman on the bed.

Natasha. Pale and beautiful.

And her heart wasn't beating. 

Natasha was dying.

The two sounds were a contradiction.

The sound of life against that of death. And yet it fitted. He scream of his child announcing the sudden stopping of his lovers heart.

“Natasha!” he cried, starting towards the bed.

The people in the room suddenly became aware of his presence.

Her doctor gave the nod to one of the nurses who ushered him outside.

“You need to leave, Mr. Barton.”

“She's dying, please, she's dying, please do something.” he whispered, holding the nurse by the arms, shaking. “I can't lose her. She's everything in my life that's worth anything. Please, I need her in my life.”

“Clint!”

Pepper was near running down the hall way to him.

“I'll do anything. Please. Save her.

The nurse nodded to him, her eyes apologetic over the mask before she turned to walk back in.

Pepper took him by the hands and gently pulled him away from the doors.

“...she's dying.” he said to her. “She's dying. Her heart isn't beating.”

Pepper wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her as he rested his head on her shoulder. 

Too numb to cry.

Too weak to move.

Pepper looked to the doors.

She could hear the baby crying.

“...its a girl.” he croaked from her shoulder. 

“Congratulations.” came the soft reply.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short one. Having some issues with time recently.   
> I will attempt to update tomorrow.


	23. Afterbirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is left with the possibility that after clawing back what little he could after Natasha's accident, he may have just lost it all again.

Clint had been taken back to the relatives room by Pepper in a daze. A state of flux between agony and nothingness that he seemed to descend into frequently during missions when asked to pull the trigger on someone he wasn't entirety sure was guilty or march through pitiless heat with a sucking chest wound to safety.

It was the place between purgatory and limbo.

It was that place where everything hurt, but there was no pain, just an unknown loudness that streaked through his nerves, his muscles, his bones.

It was that split second of cutting yourself on a blade by accident, staring at your skin and not knowing in the ear-splitting silent shriek of something, if you would bleed copiously, or if you had escaped.

That was what waiting for news about Natasha was.

Had she died on the table after their baby was cut out of her? Or was she alive, breathing, her heart beating.

Clint had imagined this scene before. Seeing Natasha die. It's just, it was never this 'normal'. Every time she had been injured in battle, badly.

Bleeding. Broken. Battered. Bruised and Beaten. He had imagined her dying in his arms with blood pouring from her stomach, her spine broken.

But never like this.

Natasha was due a violent death liberating child sex slaves, or freeing civilians from a war-torn African village.

Not this. Not a statistic for maternity mortality figures.

When he had become aware of the surroundings again, retreating out of himself, letting the external environment penetrate his mind once again when he felt the comfort of Pepper's shoulder against his head and found himself slumped against her smart suit, his tears staining the expensive fabric in the tailored suit and smelled the stale coffee that was lined up in the various half finished polystyrene cups across the surfaces in the room.

He sat up slowly, looking around and saw Tony by the window, staring outside and Pepper was sat patiently by his side.

She had managed to walk him back from theater and get him back to the room.

Such was the miracle of Pepper Potts.

Clint cracked a bone in his neck as he sat up and Pepper looked to him, nodding once to signify that he was alright when the door opened.

It was her doctor.

Clint stood up quickly and as tall as he stood, he felt like a child again.

The Doctor closed the door behind her.

“...Is she alive?” Clint heard himself say.

The Doctor nodded. “We were able to establish a rhythm shortly after she became Asystole.”

Clint's heart dropped from that place it always went to when he was anticipating bad news and fell into his gut with a thud.

He heard the sigh of relief from Pepper but it didn't feel like a good thing.

Was it the Doctors tone?

“Natasha had what we all an Antepartum bleed. We can't find any evidence of what caused it. It's possible it could be something to do with her physiology.”

“Is she going to be alright?” Tony asked quickly.

The doctor looked to him, and then to her papers on her clipboard.

“...She's lost a lot of blood. We've managed to stop the bleed. It's caused a lot of long term damage to her uterus. We'll need to consider what happens next in relation to that. We may have to give her a Hysterectomy.”

“Is she goin' to be _Alright_?” Clint asked.

“She's currently in a critical condition. She's reliant on life support. We're breathing for her. The birth was very traumatic on her body.”

Clint hung his head.

They'd got back to square one.

Natasha was back at square one.

She was breathing on a pipe again and no closer to recovery than she was when that bastard had shot her.

Pepper was holding Clint's hand.

“...Is the baby alright?” she asked.

The Doctor smiled slightly.

“She's premature. But she's doing well. She's a little Hypoglycemic, she's a little underweight, but she's being taken care of in our Neonatal unit. Do you have any names you wanted us to give to her, Clint?”

Clint didn't hear her. He didn't hear any of it. He was too busy thinking of Natasha, and everything that had happened in the last two hours.

The argument with Banner.

Natasha bleeding out.

The birth of their baby.

Natasha now comatose, on life support again.

“...Clint.” Pepper repeated.

Clint blinked out of it and looked up at her.

“...did you have a name for the baby?” she asked.

No.

Clint didn't have a name he wanted to give to this baby.

He felt numb. He felt angry.

He felt furious. He was getting closer to getting Natasha back and this birth had set her back months.

“...call her what you want. I don't give a shit.” he grumbled hoarsely.

“Clint!” Pepper scolded softly. “He doesn't mean that.” she explained to the Doctor.

Tony turned towards Pepper and held out his hand to ease her off of Clint's case.

“...I want to see Natasha.”

“She's resting in recovery.” The Doctor replied. “You can see her in the morning. Right now she needs to rest, completely. The baby is in the neonatal unit, you can see h--”

“I don't want to see it!” he growled.

“That's fine.” The Doctor nodded. “We'll call her Baby Romanoff-Barton for now. I will get someone to come and see you shortly, Clint.”

Clint rested his face in his hands as the Doctor made her exit.

“...Fuck...FUCK. SHE WAS SO CLOSE!”

Pepper startled as Tony walked over closer.

“...Pepper, can you get us something to drink please?” he asked her, nodding her to the door.

Pepper got up, leaving the room hastily as Clint sat back, resting his head against the back of the chair.

“...Clint.”

There was a hardness in Tony's voice. Something unmovable. Inflexible. Solid.

“...What?”

“I get you're pissed off. I get you're angry and I get you're hurt but you're missing out on the fact you've got a baby girl.”

“The birth nearly killed Natasha.”

“She's alive. The baby is alive.”

“She's back the way she was when she came in.”

“And she's a fighter. Like her daughter. You need to respect that.”

Clint stood up, he was a clear few inches taller than Tony and could have easily took all of this burning raw, rage and used it to lay him out but the sense of pointlessness that was running through him like the vibrations from a power tool rendered it pointless.

“...She's everythin'.” Clint replied quietly. The words not doing enough to express the sentiment.

“She's left part of that in the baby, Clint. That baby is something now. You need to address that. You're her dad. Her mom isn't able to be there for her. You are. You need to get on board that. You can't do anything for Natasha. But you can be there for your baby.”

It was all too much.

It was like the weight of everything was hanging on the top of his spine.

He wanted to be torn into pieces. To be rid of the pain and to be everywhere he was expected to be.

He was failing at everything in his life right now.

He was failing at being a partner to Natasha. At being an Avenger. At being a friend. At being a father. What good was he right now?

He felt like a bag of glass. All sharp odd ends with no formation or use.

He looked at Tony and saw the sharp bristles growing around the outside of his carefully shaped beard, the bags under his eyes, the grease on his skin and realized he wasn't completely alone in this.

“...Where do I start Tony?”

“You start by getting it together. You still have them both. Its not the best ending, I get that. But its a good ending.”

Clint rubbed his face, working life back into the tired muscles.

“You've got a baby girl. You need to give her a name. How are you going to tell Natasha who she is without a name?”

Clint closed his eyes.

“...I need to talk to Banner. I need to know, if this...Natasha goin' into premature labor was my fault. He marched straight in here, demanded she be induced. I need to know if by delayin' him, I caused this.”

Tony shook his head.

“You didn't.”

“I could have. I should have just done what he wanted. He's in charge of her bloods. He must have seen somethin'.”

“He didn't.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he told me...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support and patience. I appreciate the updates are here and there, but hopefully worth it.


	24. Crux and Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finally finds out the truth about Bruce's strange behavior.

 

Clint sat in the room with Tony and Pepper as the dim lamp that sat in the corner of the stale room gave off less light than the moon that filtered through the dusty blinds.

He sat with his coffee balanced in one hand between the gulf of his knees as he sat forwards watching Tony speak.

Tony could talk his way in and out of trouble. He could talk down the moon and convince it slide under the ocean's surface and stay there. He could say anything. But right now, it was like he was trying to swallow the moon instead.

He had never known words come out of Tony's mouth with such difficulty. Even Pepper, who was sat a few feet behind them as they spoke, trying to look occupied with work, but failing.

He'd managed to start several times, and then sighed, taking a sip of his mocha and then carrying on on a different thread but reaching the same fray.

“...A few months ago. I came across Bruce in the lab.” he began again. “...He was working on some bloods of Natasha's and I asked him if I could help in any way.”

He paused, looking at Clint.

Clint wondered if this was going anywhere or it was another infuriating false start.

“...We've all been feeling that way, Clint. We all wanna do something to help. It's been hard on all of us, watching Natasha in that bed day after day. Watching you come home, night after night, going out again. Hearing you take out your anger in the gym. Watching you repack her suitcase for when she comes out. But Banner. He took it, strange. Like, he took it differently. He took it personally.”

Clint felt a ball of trepidation in his stomach.

“...personally?”

“When Natasha got hit by that marksman. He wanted to know why she was there, and where you were, and where Steve was. And he was angry. He wanted to know why the ground hadn't been cleared, why there weren't body guards, or plain clothes marksmen for Fury there either.”

“...We couldn't trust anyone. There was nobody we could ask. He barely let me come and oversee. Let alone have a whole plain-clothes op goin' on--”

“We know that. But it really got to him. At first, we thought it was his reaction to the whole thing he'd bought into going ass-up. But as time went on, he started to get more and more frustrated.

He ran projections on software he'd bought and installed from friends who were specialists up and down the country. He'd call people who were renowned in the fields of Neurotrauma and ask them for advice. He'd run tests, and he'd write theories, staying up for hours and hours before falling asleep.”

“Where is this goin', Tony? What happened that day in the lab?”

“...I went into the lab and asked if there was anything I could do and he said...”

Tony took a deep breath.

“...He just snapped at me. Asked if I knew how long you and Natasha had been seeing each other, if you'd planned a family, if you knew about how fragile Natasha's health was, why you hadn't got in the way of that bullet instead and I was like: Whoa...what?”

The ball of trepidation that was in Clint's gut slowly unfurled into something poisonous and distasteful.

“...He was so angry at you, Clint. He was furious with you and I asked him what was going on. I asked him if he was upset because his friend was in a coma and he just gave me this laugh. Like, this really bitter laugh. So I asked if, you know, joking, that maybe he was sweet on Natasha and he was pissed off because you'd got her pregnant and he looked at me...and...”

Suddenly, Clint felt very sick.

Because everything was making sense.

 

__Clint looked up to see that Bruce was now stood, and he was hovering near the bar area, suddenly quite formal._ _

_“ _Uh…yeah.” Clint replied. “…for about six months actually.”__

__Bruce nodded._ _

_“ _Hmm.”__

 

“...I told him that it was a bad idea to go down that path and that you and Natasha had been together for some time and had a really good bond and--he just nodded at me and said that I was right. I put it out of my head. I figured that he'd maybe not slept enough and that he was getting cabin fever and he just carried on.”

 

 

_Bruce on the other hand barely came out of his quarters, or out of Tony''s lab and when he did, he would mutter a greeting or a farewell before scuttling back into the elevator._

_It was with kindness that Clint imagined him like a cockroach, but he had to admit, the behaviour was similar._

_Clint had a mild ache in his chest whenever he thought about his and Banner's last conversation that ended so abruptly with discussion of his and Natasha's relationship. Then again, it could also have been the fact that he stopped coming to see Natasha now. Always citing that he didn't want to step on the Doctor's toes._

_He would always receive data from her, scans, tests by email and would return his advice through Tony. Never personally._

  
  


“Then the other day, he came out of the lab with his tablet and said he needed to see Natasha urgently. I just let him go to it, didn't think anything to it. He probably had some data. Then, after he left, I figured and I followed on in the car...And then this happened...”

  
  


“ _I think you should induce now.”_

_Clint stifled a surprised chuckle._

“ _What? She's not even eight months gone. She's not ready. Baby ain't ready yet.”_

“ _...It's what's best for Natasha.” Bruce said firmly._

_Clint's brow furrowed._

_What the hell was Banner doing?_

“ _Natasha? You said that as long as she's pregnant, she's goin' to be fine. That her body is in a kind of...rest state. That the pregnancy protects them both.”_

_Bruce's jaw flexed a little._

“ _It's been five months. She's not improved.”_

_This had come from literally nowhere._

_Bruce's sudden interest was a bolt from the blue. For weeks he hadn't inquired personally to Clint, and it had been months since he had stepped foot into this place._

_What right had he to dictate Natasha's fate now? The fate of his girlfriend and their child together?!_

“ _And she's not worsened, Bruce, the fuck has gotten into you? Who the fuck do you think you are? Comin' here, and tellin' me what's best for my girlfriend? For my baby?”_

“ _You're treating her like an incubator!” Bruce snapped finally, looking back to Clint._

  
  


“...Clint. I am so sorry.” Tony began. “I know this is like, the last thing you want to hear right now. You probably wanna concentrate on Nat and the ba--”

Clint got to his feet, revulsion and panic in his chest.

“...I'm gonna fuckin' kill him.”

“Clint, No.” Pepper began, starting up.

“Dude. Dude.” Tony began urgently. “C'mon, what are you gonna do? Banner fled off with his tail between his legs, hasn't been seen since, and you aren't gonna leave Nat and the baby to go pound on someone who can grow six times their size and smash you into Archer pate, are you?”

Clint couldn't think straight.

He wanted to punch Banner straight in the face and not stop until he felt bone break for even thinking he had a right to dictate what happened to Natasha because he had a crush on her. He wanted to ask him what the fuck he thought was acceptable about continuing to lust after his woman even after finding out she was in a coma, AND carrying their baby.

What was he even hoping for?

Was he hoping that be inducing he'd wake Natasha up? Declare his love and live happily ever after?!

“Barton...Come on. You need to think about this. At least wait until you're not half-asleep, looking like you've been pulled through a hedge backwards.”

He felt a rush of rage around his system again and he broke free of Tony's hold.

“...I want to see Natasha.”

“Not gonna happen. You know that. Why don't you go see your daughter?”

“I can't. I can't do that.”

Tony sighed, something like exasperation and pity as Pepper got up. She looked tired.

“...Clint. You're really tired...and you can't do anything now. Not tonight. So why don't you get some sleep?”

Clint shook his head forcefully. Like a child resisting nap-time.

“...not goin' home.”

“I never said you had to. Get your head down on that couch.” Pepper began. “Get some sleep. And tomorrow, we'll work on what we can do about Bruce, about Nat, and about the baby.”

 


	25. Fidelity and Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finally summons the courage to see his new born daughter. But it is not without it's misgivings. Will Clint be able to face the baby?

Clint woke up some time around dawn to the stench of coffee in his nose and a crick in his neck from the hard arm of a hospital couch that smelled of stale disinfectant.

He sat up rapidly, one of his hearing aids was half out and he reached to push it into his ear again with a dull thud and crackling noise.

Pepper was asleep, her head tilted to the side and Tony's jacket covering her in the armchair and Tony was stood near the window, watching the dawn with the offending coffee.

“...Stark...” Clint croaked.

Tony turned around.

“Morning buttercup. Coffee?”

There was a chime of optimism in his voice. Clint found it palatable.

“...How long was I--”

“Six hours. Give or take. Pepper went about fifteen minutes later. I've been awake all night.”

“Any news?”

“Yeah. Your baby is doing well, and Natasha's made it through the night. She's not quite there, but she's hanging on.”

The rush of what had happened hit Clint like a football in the gut and he remembered it all.

The baby. Natasha crashing. Bruce.

“...And Banner?” Clint asked testily.

“I've been texting him. He hasn't replied, but New York is still in one piece so at least there's that...”

Clint rubbed his face sleepily. It felt greasy and prickly.

“...There's some uh...baby wipes in that black bag Pepper brought with her. They refresh you a little.”

Clint looked over at the black holdall that Pepper had dropped the second she walked in and got up. His bones cracked and groaned as he did and the white hospital blanket that Pepper had probably cast over him fell to the floor.

He had ventured a guess that it was something for Natasha, or for him, but when he bent down to peek inside he saw a lot of pastel colours, all in soft cotton.

Baby clothes.

Kneeling down, he picked up the one on top and examined it.

It was a lilac baby outfit. Tiny. Soft. With gentle stripes on its collar. He picked up the next one. Cream with a tiny teddy-bear sewn onto its chest. The next was peach. Lemon. Every color but pink.

“Yeah, Pepper said they might not fit for a few weeks, seeing as she's premature, but we can get clothing for her. I mean, they make these premie clothes right?”

Clint examined the cuffs of the lilac one, soft and gentle and took a deep sniff of the soft garment.

It smelled like fabric softener and talcum powder.

It smelled of what his future should have smelled like. Domestic contentment with a family, instead of the decay and rot of stale blood and sweat.

He looked over at Tony.

“...I think I'm ready to see her.”

“Natasha?”

“No. The baby.”

Tony nodded quickly.

“I'll see what I can do.”

Tony made a quick exit. Clint figured that Pepper told him that the minute he expressed interest in the baby that Tony should have encouraged it.

Seeing the small item of clothing made Clint realize that there was a tiny little creature in this place that was scared, probably lonely, and very cold and that it needed someone nearby who it belonged to.

This tiny child, who was half him, half Natasha had been alone for too long.

 

*

A neonatal nurse who had been on duty when the baby had been born was relieved when her father finally expressed an interest in seeing his daughter.

She agreed to come and down and lead him to the neonatal unit, especially after Tony Stark agreed to do her a favour and drop in at her nephew's birthday party.

Clint had managed to wash his face, change into a fresh tee shirt that had been in the side pocket of the holdall (Thank you, Pepper) and managed to look half way presentable by the time she arrived.

She introduced herself as Dahlia as she walked with him to the unit and explained what he could expect.

“As Natasha had an antepartum bleed, its necessary for us to monitor baby carefully.” she began, leading him down the sterile corridor that at this time of the morning only had janitors mopping the floors and people stocking up the vending machines. “...But she's doing so well. Her temperature is maintaining itself, she's on a little bit of oxygen, but we're sure she'll be ready to breathe unassisted soon. And she's feeding well.”

“...feedin'?”

“We have donor breast milk for premie babies, its for the best.”

Clint nodded, none of this was making sense to him but he knew that the baby was in the best place.

“...I...I uh, sorry. I'm sorry I never came earlier. I was...”

She paused, patting his wrist comfortingly.

“It's a normal reaction. You were conflicted. The important thing now is that you're here and you get to see your daughter.”

She carried on walking.

“We'll need to keep her in for a little longer, a day or so, see how she gets on. If she's improving, we can give you the go ahead to take her home.”

“...so soon?” Clint asked.

The nurse looked to him with barely concealed sympathy. He can't have been the first man to be left with the possibility of taking his baby home without its mother.

“...You'll be supported, Mr. Barton. I assure you. We have fantastic outreach programs for people in your situation.”

Clint knew what she meant. She meant fathers who had lost the mother of their baby during labor.

Clint pressed on, slightly nervous at the prospect of being face to face with his baby.

She led him down a corridor that was more colourful. Decals of clouds, the sun, butterflies. Baby images as the soft distant crying of a baby broke through the corridor.

“....is that her?” he asked urgently.

The nurse smiled.

She shook her head.

“No. Your little one is just down the hallway here. She's resting at the minute. Had her last feed an hour ago.

Now, I just want to prepare you. She's having oxygen, and she's being monitored so she has a lot of wires attached to her. But she's very comfortable and she's not in any pain.”

Clint nodded quickly, he knew this story.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for something he had not fully envisioned doing alone.

She smiled.

“...She's got spirit...” she continued, leading him further down the hall, through another set of double doors. “...She's always wide awake when it's feeding time.”

She pushed open a final set of doors that led to a decorated, but otherwise very sterile room that housed two or three other babies in little plastic cribs.

He scanned the incubators quickly. Looking for a flash of red hair...or black.

His stomach was tight.

Because if it was black...

If it was black...

“Here she is...”

Clint's eyes moved quickly to the crib the nurse was stood next to and a sigh of relief left him that felt like his soul was escaping from his body.

The baby in the crib, behind the grey wires, and the clips.

The wrinkled, pink bundle of limbs and the too big diaper.

The baby with the few thin strands of red hair...had big blue eyes.

Those eyes, that were his. And his brothers. And his mothers.

For one, or two, or seven thousand horrible instants, he had doubted Natasha and considered that the baby he'd been hoping for had been the product of some illicit affair between Banner and her.

He felt torn between relief, and shame.

Relief that the baby in the cot that was his baby. His daughter. Every inch of her half him, half her. And shame he had ever doubted her. His beautiful, steadfast, and loyal Natasha.

“...she's beautiful, isn't she?” the nurse asked.

Clint moved his gaze from those beautiful eyes, and took in everything about his new baby daughter.

Her curled up fists with the delicate little nails. Her plump reddened cheeks and button nose that was, hopefully Natasha's and not his.

The thin red hair that was all of her mother, the tiny toes on her perfectly formed foot every beautiful follicle and hair between.

“...She's beautiful.” he conceded thickly.

“...if you'd like, you can hold her.”

“Oh. I can't.” he replied. “...I...she's too fragile.”

The nurse was already preparing to scoop up the baby.

“...go wash your hands.”

Clint walked to where she had nodded and washed his hands in the sink.

There was something that was growing in him like a balloon of happiness.

It was starting to sink in.

The baby in that crib was his. She was his daughter. His baby. His baby girl.

New opportunities were starting to open up.

He could see himself carrying her around the bedroom at night, trying to get her settled. He could see himself bathing her. And feeding her. And getting her dressed. Taking her to school. Teaching her to ride a bike...

He turned around, drying his hands on paper towels as he walked back.

She gestured to a chair.

“...Just sit there, Mr. Barton...and you can hold your daughter...”

Clint sat down and a moment later, she had put the baby in his arms.

She weighed barely anything and looked like such a fragile little thing. She was covered in wires, and sticky pads that monitored her little body. Her tiny little hands were curled up into little pink fists and she had her legs close, scrunched up to her body.

A tiny breathing tube was in her nose. Identical to the one Natasha had been on for the last few months.

Clint had never been happier. He was sure it was shining out of him like the sun.

He held the baby a little closer to his chest, carefully and slowly wrapping his arm around her in the blanket when she startled again, opening her eyes.

The shape of her eyes, the shape of his. Two identicals looking into one another. Did this baby know he was her daddy?

Clint felt his heart tug painfully and knew she was holding it.

“...Oh little girl...” he began softly, his voice thick with tears. “...we've fought so hard...to meet you...”

The nurse smiled at him.

“...I'll give you some time.”

Clint could have stopped her, told her he was afraid to be alone with a baby he had no idea how to care for, but he knew.

He knew he was going to be just fine.

He ran his finger down her cheek.

“...I...am so sorry I wasn't here before kiddo.” he began, sniffing to keep back the tears. “...it's just, I was worried about your mom...and I didn't think I'd be a good enough replacement for her. But I promise, right now, I'm here for her. I'm me and I'm her. Okay?”

The baby closed her eyes sleepily.

He took her foot between his thumb and forefinger. Seeing how small and delicate it was.

“...You're kind of...a big deal...” he continued. “...you're...a really big deal...I dunno if you get that. But you've got a lot of people waitin' to meet you and cuddle you and stuff. So, there's that.

Uh. I'm your dad. I'm Clint. And...your mom, she's Natasha. You have her hair. You got my eyes. They were your grandma's eyes too. Oh God, she would have loved you. She would have thought you were the prettiest thing. She would have knit for you, and cooked for you. She always wanted a daughter so you would have been the apple of her eye little girl.”

Clint smiled, tears still glazing his vision so his baby girl wobbled.

“...Oh, and your Uncle Barney, is gonna love you. He's a big kid so you're probably gonna be spendin' Saturday mornin's in your pyjamas watchin' Tom and Jerry eatin' peanut butter out of a jar with him.”

The baby made a soft coo and scrunched up her face and began to whimper.

He held her a little closer.

“C'mon...it's not that bad. I promise.” he soothed, as a tear rolled out of his eye and down his cheek. “...Nothin' is that bad when I'm here to protect you, baby girl...” he smiled sadly. “...Cos I'm your armor...I'm your shield, and while I'm here, ain't nothin' gonna hurt you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can say without boasting this was my favourite chapter to write.
> 
> A big thank you to f_Romanoff_13 for her advice on premature baby care and for helping me write it accurately!


	26. Calzones and Sympathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finds good advice from the least likely source.

“...'llo?”

“Its me Barn'.”

“Clint...What's up?”

“You're an Uncle.

“...She had the baby??”

“Yeah. Last night.”

“Oh man...Congratulations!”

“...I sent you a picture. Check your email.”

“...Dude, you know I never check my email. Its all junk about Viagra and coupons for Tuna at Walmart.”

“Dude. I told you, don't use your real email when you sign up for those bullshit competitions.”

“I'm not that good at thinkin' on my feet, you know that. I roll with it. Woman asks for my email, I give her my email.”

“Well, your niece is waitin' in there for you so you better wade through that shit.”

“Tell me about her.”

“She's got mom's eyes.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah. Same shape, same shade.”

“Wow. How...How's Natasha?”

“...She's not great.”

“Okay....Uh...Tell me about the baby.”

“She's beautiful. She's...she's just beautiful man. Her eyes are gorgeous and she's got Natasha's hair.”

“I'm so happy for you, man. When you got time, I'll come and see her, yeah?”

“That'd be great, Barney. I want you to be a part of her life.”

“What have you named her?”

“...I haven't. Not yet. I was waitin' for...”

“Well, when you have one. Let me know, I'll get one of those fancy teddy bear things from that shop with her name on. Be a real uncle and shit.”

“...Thanks man.”

“No worries. Give her a cuddle from me.”

“Will do. Later.”

“See you later.”

Clint pushed end call on his cell and looked up at Tony who was smiling at him.

“...Feel real yet?”

He nodded, a smile blooming on his face.

“...Startin' to.”

One shower, nap, shave and change of clothes later and Clint was feeling more human than he had for a while.

Pepper had been home, got him something to wear while he slept after holding his daughter. It had been the best sleep he had had for what seemed to be years but was probably only months.

Tony looked like he'd managed a few hours too.

Tony didn't sleep much. 6 hours was what he considered a lie-in for him. Still, Tony had the gift that came with being part-italian. The gift of looking fantastic even when ruffled and stressed. Something he inherited from his mother no doubt.

“...You ready to eat yet?” He asked. “...I got Happy on the way here with enough Calzones to keep the whole department happy.”

Clint nodded.

“Sure. How much is that gonna set you back?”

“Don't worry about it.” Tony replied, putting his cup down. “...The amount of free coffee they've been dealing out here, I think I owe them. So...What's the plan to dad, Daddy.”

“Don't call me that, Stark.”

“What? It's cute.”

“It's creepy comin' from you. And plan? Well. I wanted to go see Natasha...”

“You ready for that?”

Clint nodded. “...I think so.”

He'd been advised to take a small break from seeing her with Pepper promising to go instead. He suspected they wanted to give him time to bond with the baby before getting back to being Natasha's sentinel.

“Besides. I gotta talk to her about the baby. She needs to know she's okay.”

Tony nodded.

“...Steve was gonna drop by later. Bring some flowers. Not that she needs any. You've brought half of Holland to her over the past eight months.”

“She might be able to smell them.”

“Yeah. I guess. Any word on Banner?” Clint asked, his eyes barely brushing Tony.

“...No. I'm starting to kinda worry about him.”

“He's good at getting off the radar. I got questions for him.”

“Do they really matter?”

“Yeah. They do.”

Tony sat down on the edge of the chair.

“...Like what?”

“Uh.” Clint began, rubbing his nose. “...The obvious. The fuck do you think you were doin'? The hell were you sniffin' around my unconscious, pregnant girlfriend.”

“It's done. Barton.”

“No. It isn't done, Stark. Put yourself in my shoes. Imagine for one minute, heaven forbid and all that shit, that Pepper is pregnant, and in a Coma. Your buddy Rhodey comes up and starts actin' all crazy like he's got a crush on her.”

“I get it.”

“I don't think you do. For a minute. Half a minute. I was confused and I was scared that the baby wasn't gonna be mine. He MADE me DOUBT her, Tony.”

“...Are you shitting me, Barton?”

“No.”

“He's sterile, Barton. The radiation made him as barren as the Sahara. Even if he was banging Natasha every minute of the day he co--”

Clint had grabbed Tony by the lapels of his jacket.

“...Don't talk about her that way!”

“Easy! See, this is why he hi-tailed out of here. You have issues talking, Barton. You talk with your fists all the goddamn time!”

Clint released him.

Tony straightened his lapels and looked at his nearly spilled coffee as Clint sat down again, rubbing his face.

“...I get the anger, Barton. I really do. I saw it in my dad all his life.”

Clint looked up at Tony, surprise and confusion etched into his features.

“...That guy mourned Rogers every day of his life. And all because he couldn't direct his anger the way he wanted it.

Rogers didn't die. He didn't get buried in a casket with a flag and a twenty one gun salute.

He went missing. In a place my dad couldn't find him, no matter how many years he funded the search. He couldn't do Margaret Carter right and find him for her. And he couldn't have anyone prosecuted. Sure, he went after every HYDRA King and Pawn he could find with the SSR, but it was never enough.

The guy never even found Red Skull.

It's like you now. Nobody to blame, nobody's neck to snap. So you keep looking for someone to rage at. Isn't anyone for you to rage at...”

Clint knew he was right. Hearing it spoken out loud by perhaps the least empathetic person he knew was a little unnerving to say the least, to hear emotion flicker in the bass of his voice.

But Clint had to admit, finding Bruce Banner and beating him black and green would only soothe his fists for a few hours, but the burning outrage in his soul, only Natasha could soothe by looking at him.

“...So can I tell the police not to expect a HULK attack tonight?”

Clint nodded slowly.

“Beatin' the shit out of Banner ain't gonna bring me no peace.” he sighed. “...Just keep him away from me, right? Until I can go to that inner 'safe place' the therapist told me to find.”

Stark nodded, and took a sip of his coffee.

“...Your dad would'a been proud of ya, y'know?”

“Shut up, Barton before I draw a sharpie moustache on your daughter.”

 

*

 

Clint walked into Natasha's room after being shown through by a nurse. She didn't even give him the drill this time. No 'softly-softly' patter on how to expect the worse and that she was not in pain.

He knew it. Off by heart.

He pushed open the door and heard the familiar sound of a heart monitor. Beeping softly, the clinical hiss of oxygen. The scent of fresh sheets, fresher detergent.

He looked to the bed and saw Natasha.

She looked different. Very different.

Absent a bump. Present a bag of blood.

She'd lost a great deal of blood during the birth, he recalled them telling him.

So much that they were certain she was going to die.

But she clung to life with those cold, white fingers. Just as she always had. Those blood stained fingers of hers.

Sitting down on the bed, he knew new nurses had been dealing with her. From the obvious mistakes to the little bits the ones back where she had been knew to avoid.

He stroked her hair back over her ear. Put her hands besides her body, avoiding the slightly swollen stomach she still had where their baby had been growing only yesterday and adjusted the blanket so that she was comfortable.

“...Hey mommy...” he began, a smile he tried to hide splitting his lips open.

Natasha didn't move.

Her lips did not move under the plastic shield of the oxygen mask, and her breathing did not alter.

“...She's the image of you, baby.” he began. “...She got your hair. And my eyes. And both of our guts.”

He brought her cold fingers to his lips.

“...She's gorgeous Natasha. She's everythin' you want her to be, and more. She's got this skin. And Natasha, I never knew skin could be so soft, its softer than the skin on the back of your knees, or the skin on the back of your neck. And its covered in all this tiny, tiny blonde hair. An-And she's got these tiny little white dots all over her cheeks, like tiny little cute white heads, now, the nurse—she said they're called milk spots, and normal, and they're gonna fade. But her nails...baby, her nails, they're like...tiny little nails like Pepper has, you know, when she's been to the salon?”

Clint smiled.

“...She's gorgeous. I haven't named her yet. I can't think of the right name. I can't. Its like, I want to find the best name in the world, and give it to her? I considered Edith? Y'know, after Mom? But Its kinda old fashioned. And I considered Virginia, after Pepper. But its kinda...Old fashioned. Uh. I went through em all...Maria, Melinda, Bobbi, Phillipa—that's like a female Phil...Uh...I can't think of anythin'. And...I don't wanna name her after you...'cos...well, that's kinda weird...”

To Clint, naming her after her mother felt like an epitaph if she died. Being known as Natasha Barton, the daughter of the deceased Black Widow was a hell of a burden to carry around for a child.

At least with a name like: 'Emily Barton', or 'Trudy Barton', or 'Kirsty Barton'. She had a shot at being just a normal girl, no matter what happened.

He stroked her hair.

“...It's time to come home, Natasha. You've been away for too long...at the risk of you wakin' up and kickin' my ass...” he smiled softly, leaning in close to her ear.

“...I love you... _lyubov moya_...”

He kissed the side of her cheek, pressing his nose to it softly before pulling away.

“...I'm here, babe. I'm here...”

 

*

 

Steve came by a few hours after Clint had been in to see Natasha and had sent him to go and get one of the Calzone's from the staff room refrigerator while he took some time out with Natasha.

He'd been allowed to look at the baby through the window of the maternity unit on Clint's permission and had made all of the right sounds and all of the right faces to Clint so he was happy to comply and let his friend and team mate go in his place.

He picked out one of the Calzone's that smelled like heaven and sat down in the relatives room where he wondered where else nurses were directing relatives now that the Avengers had occupied the room on a semi-regular basis.

“...Better?”

Clint looked up at the unsettled voice and saw a slightly stooped man with rough looking black-grey curly hair, stubble and glasses.

“...You got fuckin' brass balls to come here...” Clint said after swallowing a particularly painful bite of sandwich before setting it and down and getting to his feet. Fire was in his veins, hot cement was in his muscles and lead was in his gut.

Banner backed away a little, his hands held out defensively.

“...Don't...I...Let me explain...”

“Quick.” Clint advised, nodding, keeping his fists balled up and his distance in check.

“...I'm sorry.”

“Sorry doesn't cover it.”

“I know that. I...Look, Its difficult to explain...”

“Try.”

“You're making this difficult...”

“My bad.” Clint began with a mock sympathetic voice. “You want me to go easier on you after you wanted to bang my girlfriend?”

“...it wasn't like that.”

“I know that. I know my Natasha wouldn't do shit with you.”

Bruce looked slightly-wounded, but bore it well.

“...Natasha was the first woman, in a long time, to show me any kindness.”

“Look. If this is gonna be a pity party, spare me.”

“It's not. I misinterpreted her kindness for something more. Alright?

I didn't know you two were dating and I suppose I sort of, blinkered myself that you weren't.”

“...She was pregnant, Banner. She was pregnant with my baby. Tell me how the fuck you ignore that shit. You were workin' on her bloods!”

“...I know.”

“She's my girl, Banner. She's been my girl for a while now, and you were lustin' after her like some...perverted high schooler!”

“Please.”

“...Look. It's gonna take time, before I get back to speakin' terms with you, okay? But I can appreciate the way she made you feel when she spoke to you. Alright?”

Banner looked to him.

“...You do?”

“...Yeah. Like you're the only guy in the world who matters? Like you're different than you thought you were. Like your sins are beautiful and your scars are medals?”

Bruce nodded slowly.

“...I get that. She made me feel the same way. She makes me feel the same way. I look at her and I'm not some former carnie who shoots sharp wooden sticks at bad guys. She makes me feel like I'm the only thing in the world that matters to her.”

Bruce looked down, wounded.

“...Can you blame me for...feeling for her?”

Clint gave a stiff head shake.

“...Not really. But you should have backed off. You knew we were together.”

“...I had that once, you know.”

“What?”

“...That feeling? That you were more than you were. I was a monster, and she was the only thing that made me feel...human again.”

Clint knew about Betty Ross. Natasha had told him about her after New York.

The black haired scientist who Banner had given up so that she could live a normal life.

“...You should go find her, Bruce.”

“...Betty doesn't want me.”

“...She does.”

“She doesn't deserve to live a life with me in it. I'm a burden.”

“...You're a fuckin' avenger. Fuckin' man-up, go find her and tell her how you feel. Before some shit happens and you cant do that anymore.”

Bruce looked to him.

“...I...she...her fath--”

“Go do it.”

“...Not ready.”

“Then get ready. Life is too short for that pity shit. Find her number, bribe, and beg, and steal to get it. Then call her. And you tell her what you think Natasha made you feel...”

A hesitant smile grew in the corners of the doctors lined face.

The door swung open.

It startled Banner and Clint.

“...Barton...I...Natasha...” Steve said hastily, then backed out of the room as Clint and Bruce followed.

There were nurses rushing into the small room with equipment as Clint ran to the observation window.

Natasha was lying on the bed, shaking violently. A thick trickle of red pouring down her cheek from her nose.

“...NATASHA!!” Clint cried. “NO!”

Bruce took two paces back from the window, holding his mouth as Steve stood behind the two.

“...I was reading to her, like I normally do, and she just started shaking, Clint.”

Clint ran his hands through his hair.

“...God...God no...Please no...Please...God...”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly at the end folks...


	27. Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint comes to terms with a life without Natasha but something very unexpected comes to pass

Clint's eyes burned.

They burned with fire.

And of heartache.

Clint's body was a natural disaster of agony.

And nothing could soothe him.

As the tsunami of emotion rode over him as earthquakes of fear trembled his muscles.

He waited for news.

News of Natasha.

This time, it was different.

He felt her time had run out.

She'd been near death so often before, but this time.

She wasn't strong enough to hold on again.

Her fingers were slipping from that rope she clung too in a savage, almost mocking way to grip a hold of the life that had never been hers until much later in her years.

Natasha was going to die.

Everyone knew it.

Pepper with her mascara blotched eyes. Bruce with his grey complexion. Steve with his stiffened jaw. Tony who stared blearily into his coffee cup.

They all knew she was dying.

This was the end.

Clint felt numb inside. As though he, himself was in a little shelter as the tempest of everything that was going on around him and inside of him. He could hear it all, feel it all...yet he couldn't.

Had he finally found that 'safe place' the therapist had told him to find?

A sudden, unnatural calm. The eye of the storm where he could plan his next move.

Had becoming a father forced some sort of logical stillness that he could tap into when he needed it. The same sort of calm that allowed men to pick up cars from on top of their children? Or know to catch their child when they fell from a height?

Roses.

White Roses for her funeral. A bunch of them on her coffin.

Oak coffin.

Brass plate. No marker.

No stone.

Cremated.

Ashes scattered somewhere nice. Not Russia.

She wanted Debussey at her funeral. The one about the moon. She loved that one.

 _'Don't let Stark talk about me'_ she'd said in the heat of battle as she reloaded her mag, ducking enemy fire. _'Get Pepper to do it'._

And no SHIELD plaque on the wall of valour.

It was in dust now, along with everything else in SHIELD.

He'd wear black. Black Suit. Black Tie. He'd get a sitter for the baby.

Too young to attend her mothers funeral.

Barney would be there for him. Might even ask him to move in for a while.

He'd need to give up work.

Couldn't have a baby without a father.

He'd resign after the funeral, go take his savings to Iowa, buy some land, set up a farm or something. Raise his daughter there.

Yeah.

He'd do that.

“...How long?”

Clint stuck his head out of his shelter to notice that Stark had stood up.

Pepper checked her watch.

“...two and a half hours.”

“The hell are they doing in there? She's not in surgery...”

Clint retreated back into his shelter.

The conversation continued around him.

Natasha had gone into what the Doctor termed: Status Epilepticus. A state of constant seizures without coming out of it. He said that they weren't sure if the nose bleed was caused by it, or was the reason for it, and that they needed to do extensive testing.

Two and a half hours ago.

She looked so ill.

It had been more or less silent ever since.

Clint moved his tongue around his mouth to loosen it. The stale taste of Chorizo and cheese from the one bite of Calzone made an unpleasant taste in the mouth as he looked to the clock, then to Stark who was still speaking.

“...they'd come and tell us something, anything...”

Pepper looked to Clint before smiling slightly.

“...She's str--”

Clint held up his hand. He didn't wanna hear it.

Natasha's strong.

Strong.

STRONG.

That fucking word.

He was sick of it.

Natasha was a human being like everyone else and she had her limits.

Why sugarcoat it?

Natasha was human.

Humans lived.

Humans died.

The door opened. There was a Doctor with a folder, blue scrubs and a look of ambivalence on his face.

“...Mr. Barton...” he began.

Everyone perked up their ears.

“...May I speak to you alone?” he asked, holding onto his folder more tightly as the eyes of the Avengers suddenly scrutinized him.

Clint nodded as he got up from the chair and made to follow the Doctor.

“...Uh...Actually, is Doctor Banner here?” The Doctor asked him.

Clint looked back at Bruce with suspicion as Bruce shrunk a little into his chair.

“...yes?” Bruce asked.

“...I think you'd better come too.”

Bruce got up too, walking uncertainly behind Clint as the others watched.

The Doctor led them out as Bruce closed the door behind them.

It was night time, and the ICU was deserted but for a few nurses.

“What is it?” Clint asked. “...and why is Banner involved?”

“...As I understand from some of the earlier reports, Doctor Banner gave some projective prognosis' on the outcomes of Miss. Romanoff's coma...”

Bruce nodded.

Clint thought, then remembered. Of course he had, a while back now. They had discussed it.

“Perhaps, if I showed you...”

The Doctor pulled out a large piece of film and put it on the viewer for Clint and Bruce to see.

It was a brain scan. Natasha's brain scan. It showed massive damage where she had taken the bullet. A thick white haze that dominated one side of the image.

“...This was the first CT scan we did on Natasha. As you can see, it was a very bad brain injury.”

Bruce nodded.

“It improved after surgery...” he commented.

“Marginally, though some damage remained, hence the coma.” The Doctor continued, putting a second scan next to it where it showed some slight improvement that was clearly post-surgery from the white plate that was now showing up on the CT image.

Clint looked from Banner to the Doctor wondering where this was going.

“...We've conducted another scan after Natasha went into Status Epilepticus and...We've seen something rather unique.”

“...Unique?” Banner repeated, looking dubiously at the image then to the Doctor.

The Doctor put up the next scan, removing the second one.

The scan looked...

“...She's healing.” Banner said in awe, putting his glasses on for closer inspection.

“We can't explain it.” The Doctor said to Clint. “But she appears to be showing brain function in areas we believed were too badly damaged. We're seeing Neurogenesis...”

“Endogenous regeneration.” Bruce continued, tracing along the brain near the damaged area of the skull that still bore the marks.

“It's as if the birth triggered it.”

“Neurogenesis is never this advanced. You see some regeneration, but it's over time. A long time, with therapy, operations, drugs. This is...This is almost impossible.”

“It is impossible.” The Doctor reiterated.

“Are you saying, she could wake up?” Clint asked, feeling swamped by the news, and the terms being used.

“I'm saying it's more probable than it has been. From now on, we're rewriting the books with this case. Natasha's displaying hitherto unknown medical phenomena.”

“...Her brain is fixing itself in ways it has never been seen to do.” Bruce translated. “She a medical miracle.”

Clint looked to Bruce meaningfully.

They both knew how this worked. The Red Room had messed with Natasha. And this was probably one of the after effects.

This means that SHIELD would probably have to get involved with cleaning up in the department, make a few doctors sign a few waivers, silencing orders.

“...I guess so.” Clint nodded.

“And it's rapid. We took a scan a few days before Natasha went into labour, and we saw some improvement, but nothing on this scale.”

Bruce nodded.

“How is she now?” asked Clint.

“She's stable. Breathing unaided. We've taken samples from her but she's still comatose. So we're keeping her under normal observation.”

Clint nodded. Trying to process it all.

Half an hour ago, he was planning her funeral. Now he was wondering when she would wake up again.

He felt dizzy.

“...Are you alright?”

Clint looked up at Banner who was staring at him.

“...I...I Uh, yeah, I'm just feeling a bit...weird.”

“You'll need time to process this.” The Doctor smiled, almost laughing at the miracle he had on his hands.

“...I, uh, you can talk to me about anything medically. I've been given her records. I think you've got my consent form down there...” Bruce began, looking to Clint and giving him a subtle nod back to the room.

“Yes, of course.”

“Clint, why don't you go get some rest?” He added.

Clint nodded.

Bruce was perhaps one of his least favourite people still, but he knew what the score was and he could trust him to be honest and candid.

Clint walked back towards the relatives room where the others were camped out and pushed open the door. Punch drunk from what he had heard.

At once, everyone who was seated stood.

Pepper put down her cell. Tony looked up from his coffee. Steve stood to attention. “...well?” Tony asked.

“...She's going to be fine...” Clint mumbled before passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last but one chapter guys


	28. Emergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha finally emerges from her coma.

 

Clint smiled as he held his baby girl in his arms. She was wearing a baby gro that seemed to dwarf her small body but she was off all support now, off her feeding tube, and was enjoying being cuddled by her daddy again.

Her pink skin was wrinkled, her little fingers outstretched to feel the texture of the air as she sat for the first time in the audience of someone special.

“...Mommy...” he began, looking to Natasha. “...May I present someone very special...”

He gently elevated the bundle of white blankets in his arms as the baby fussed, giving a soft squeak of protest.

“...Shh...Shh. Come on, this isn't a good first impression...” he soothed, stroking the baby's cheek with his roughened thumb. “...Natasha, this is our baby...”

He looked down at the bundle who was drawing her fists up near her face again, her colour dimming back down.

“...She's a live wire. She wriggles when you try and change her diaper. She feeds too fast--Gets hiccups. And she farts when you feed her, which is funny...because Barney farts at the dinner table too...”

He chuckled and leaned in, kissing the baby's head.

“...Name wise, I'm considerin' two, so far...Molly, or Tilly.” he replied. “I'm kinda taken with Molly. You know Mr. Harman? Met him on the way up here, he's been discharged today. Hip's better than mine—anyhow, I got talkin' to him, turns out his late wife was called Molly. I thought it was a cute name...”

Just then the baby gave a slight hiccup and startled before wrinkling her face and starting to cry.

Clint bundled her up, placing her gently over his shoulder and standing up.

“Oh...no no no. C'mon baby...C'mon...” he said, pacing away from Natasha's bed.

“Ain't no reason to cry. Your Uncle Barney gets hiccups all the time. Now when Banner get's hiccups...then you gotta worry 'cos you can't scare him outta them—shhh-shhhhhh....shhh...”

“...b....bay....baby....”

That voice...

THAT voice...

A voice that was only ever in his dreams now.

A voice that seemed so fragile...

Turning around, he saw her eyes.

Her eyes were open.

Barely open, but her fingers that lay on the bed, were outstretched weakly towards him.

It was like a dream, but everything around him felt real. That was Natasha on that bed, not a dream Natasha. No wavy locks of long red hair, lips too red for reality, no bruises, no scars.

It was his real, his broken and beautiful Natasha.

Clint supported the baby's head, rushing back to her side, sitting on the bed, unable to believe he was seeing what he was seeing.

“...Nat...” he whispered, looking into her eyes, searching for the woman he loved, striving to see amongst the confusion and the pain and the concern if she was still in there.

Her eyes locked onto his, then to the baby over his shoulder that was crying.

Clint's heart was in his mouth.

Did she know? Could she know? Did she remember? How much did she remember? Did she remember him?

“...Nat...” he repeated, nodding reassuringly, stroking her hair soothingly with his free hand.

Her gaze dropped to her stomach and her eyes closed in relief:

“...baby...” she said with a sigh that screamed relief.

She knew. She remembered. She understood.

Clint smiled hesitantly, nodding.

“Baby...baby is fine Nat. She's alive. You're alive. We're all okay.”

Her eyes opened again, looking to him.

“...baby?” she asked, her eyes creased in pleading way.

Clint reached to stroke her cheek and when she didn't flinch away, the relief grew in him like a warm ray of sunshine.

“...It's a girl Nat. You had a beautiful baby girl. She's beautiful Nat, just like you...”

The ghost of a smile crossed her cheeks and her eyelids fluttered closed.

Natasha had emerged from her Coma.

 

**Four weeks later**

 

Clint walked into the living area where Natasha was sat, her legs propped up on the couch, a red blanket over her and her baby in her arms as she fed her.

Natasha had been home for a few hours.

Tony had spared no expense on kitting out their level with everything Natasha would need to become independent as she recovered. And recovery was going to be a long, arduous road. But it would be worth it.

Natasha had woken up upon hearing her child's cry, and it was a Disney moment, no doubt, but there were no magic wands, no fairy god mothers, no enchantments broken by kisses that would make her instantly well.

She had woken, yes.

But she had a long way to go.

Natasha had started at square one.

She had been in a coma for 6 months with some degree of brain damage and though it was healing, a miracle in itself, she still had a lot to fight for.

Her consciousness was spread into 5-10 minutes consciousness, interspersed with hours where she'd sleep. But gradually, she began to wake for longer and longer to eat, complete her therapy sessions and receive guests.

Her speech was impaired greatly. Being only able to speak one word to communicate everything from her need to use the bathroom, to wanting to sleep.

The word 'Baby'.

Clint became an expert and piecing together the meaning from strings of one word using the different intonations and volume to divine what his girlfriend wanted.

With gradual therapy, her native tongue, as well as her adopted English returned and she was able to speak again. Making the pathways between what she had known before, and how to use it now.

Clint remembered as she held her baby, and sang her a lullaby that she had mastered that day.

Her strength had been weakened, her muscles had become lazy and her ability to walk was practically non-existent. But with daily physio, there was every chance she could be walking again, perhaps even training by Christmas.

The one thing that couldn't be fixed however, was the profound deafness in her affected side.

The bullet had blown out some of the delicate nerves rendering her completely deaf on that side and strangely enough, it didn't seem to bother her.

In fact, very little of what had been revealed to her did.

The fact she had almost died a number of times, the horrors of the baby's birth, the fact her skull had been torn apart by a HYDRA bullet.

She merely accepted it, and found comfort in her baby's face.

Clint had been allowed to take her home though something still weighed on Clint's mind, though he knew that it shouldn't.

Life was starting to look perfect again.

His girl, his baby, his home, his life. It was all becoming beautiful again.

Here he was now, gazing at his beautiful family as Natasha fed her daughter, smiling at her and talking to her.

“..Daddy is creeping on us, Molly. Shall we shoot him?” Natasha teased in a soft, motherly tone.

“...Oh don't do that.” Clint replied softly. “...Who will clean up the diapers?”

“Good point.” Natasha replied, looking to him and smiling in that she did. “...Let's not shoot daddy. Let's make him change your diaper instead.”

Clint slapped the back of his hand to his forehead.

“No! No! Not the poopy diaper!” he said dramatically dropping to the floor before pretending to choke to death.

Natasha smiled and gently pulled the bottle away to slow Molly's feeding down.

“...She's going to be as big as a 6 month old if we don't curb that appetite.” Natasha remarked, looking to him as he picked himself up off the floor.

“Considerin' how small she was when she came out. That won't be a problem.”

Natasha looked to the baby.

“...She's got your eyes...”

“I know. They were m'mothers.” Clint replied walking towards them, kneeling beside the couch and peeking at his daughter. “...And my grandma's, I think...”

Natasha smiled.

“...This hair was my grandmothers. I remember that much.” she smiled. “...Romanoff hair...”

Clint smiled as the baby turned her head away from the bottle, making a fussing noise as she did.

“...She's a lil diva...” Clint replied. “Always gotta throw the dramatics when she doesn't want anymore. Want me to burp her?”

Natasha nodded and kissed Molly's head before handing her over to her father and sitting back.

Clint gently placed the baby over his shoulder and rubbed up to get rid of her wind.

“You feelin' like you need a nap?” he asked her.

Natasha shook her head.

“I'm awake. I want to be awake. I feel as though I've missed so much...”

Clint heard his daughter give a watery belch and figured he'd added another sick stain to his collection of plaid.

“Well, I think this one is overdue a nap...” He smiled. “I'll change her diaper and stick her down for a few hours.”

Natasha looked up at him, her green eyes hard and alert.

“...We're going to have that 'talk', you promised, aren't we?”

Clint smiled apologetically and went to change the baby, trying to be as fast as he could in case Natasha decided to escape the talk by napping.

He placed the baby in the crib, turning on her mobile before switching on the monitor.

“...Sleep well, Molly.” he smiled at her, leaning in to kiss her nose before heading out, switching off the light.

Natasha was still awake when he got back, in fact, she looked like she was preparing herself.

Suddenly, Clint felt afraid of what he was about to ask.

“What do you want to know?” she asked him.

Clint sat down.

“You knew you were pregnant. I found the test in your apartment while you were in the coma....”

Natasha smiled in a way that was 50% ' _Goddamn it'_ , and 50% ' _Smartass_ '.”

“...why did you still take that bullet?”

Natasha looked at him, her head tilted.

“...I knew that i'd lose the baby.” she replied.

Clint's mouth dropped open slightly. He wasn't prepared for an answer so direct. So blunt.

“Has this happened before?” he asked, slightly incredulous.

“Once.”

“...When?”

“A long time ago.” she replied. “...I reached 9 weeks.”

“...Oh Nat.” Clint sighed.

“...It didn't matter.” she replied. “...I didn't get the chance to become attached. I bled very heavily during a training exercise. The medics in the KGB rushed me into see a doctor, he informed me I had been pregnant and to next time be more careful.”

Clint reached out to touch her hand.

“...I knew I couldn't go through that again.” she replied. “...When I saw that gunman, I reacted instinctively. To save Nick. To be his shield.”

“...Your body repressed it. It preserved your life, and your baby.” Clint responded. “You could'a died, Natasha.”

“...I know. I knew that when I signed up. I knew that the day you brought me in.”

“...I could'a lost you. Lost you both.”

She looked to him.

“...I couldn't have stood to see the look on your face when you got a phone call from someone at SHIELD saying that I'd miscarried on a mission, or during training. To think that I could have been pregnant with your baby and that I'd lost it. Or that I'd been capable of carrying a baby in the first place.”

Clint knelt down on the floor besides her on the couch, holding her hands.

“...All I ever wanted, was you, Nat.”

She looked down at him, her eyes a little more watery than usual as she stroked his cheek.

“...But I can't bear to lose you.” he said again.

“...I'm out of the field. Clint.” she replied.

“...what?”

“...I called Nick this morning, handed in my resignation.”

“...Nat...”

“Look. You're the best at what you do. You're the best marksman that Nick has. I'm half-deaf now, and it'll take me a year to get back to normal at least. Our baby needs at least one parent at home who is gonna be there for them, and it should be me.”

“...But this is your life, Nat. This is what you've done, always what you've done...”

“And now I have a new job. I wasn't there for the pregnancy. Or the birth. I need to be here for her now. Besides, I can act in an advisory capacity. Be a consultant.”

Clint sighed.

“...I'm not gonna change your mind am I?”

“No.” Natasha smiled.

“...You owe me somethin' for this, you know?” Clint replied, looking up at her.

“Uh-huh?”

“...Yeah, you're gonna have to marry me.”

“...What?” she asked, her features dissolving from playful to genuine surprise.

“...You're gonna have to marry me. Let me make you into a real housewife and mother.”

“Jeez. Really?” she teased again, a smile on her lips.

“Really.”

“...Okay then...” she murmured, leaning in to kiss him.

Clint grinned, pressing his lips to hers softly and wrapping his arms around her.

The feeling of her wrapping her arms around him back was everything he had hoped for in the past seven months. It was heaven. It was real.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're done here folks.
> 
> Thank you for everything you've done for me during the progress of this story. For sticking with Clint, for never giving up hope on Clint.
> 
> Remember to check out littlespiderwriting.tumblr.com for updates on future projects. For questions, for anything you need.


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